Star Wars & Wing Commander : The Imperial March
by Andrew NDB
Summary: When an Imperial remnant calling itself the Third Imperium arrives from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away in our very own galaxy, just a couple months before WC:P, ConFleet must mobilize immediate fleet action against an Imperial Kilrathi alliance
1. Prologue

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Prologue

A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY. . .

**TWENTY-ONE YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF ENDOR**

THE KATREL SYSTEM, UNKNOWN REGIONS  
IMPERIAL OUTPOST OMEGA-7

They are on their way."

Grand Moff Jhediah had received the confirmation from the command center.

He stood before the viewports of his sparse quarters, his hands folded behind his back as he stood in a perfect expression of proper military posture. Looking to the stars, pinpricks of light spread across the empty void of space as twinkling gossamer, he pondered what lay ahead of him, and the decision he had made an hour ago that would decide the future of the Empire. As he stood pondering this, his thoughts drifted to his past, his beginnings, where he sought reassurance that what he was doing was right.

He had learned from the mistakes of the greats. Vader, Isard, Zsinj, Thrawn, Daala—all of them had shown their strengths in the skirmishes of the past two decades. It was in their weaknesses that Jhediah drew his own strength from. For each of the warlords, no matter how intelligent, how cunning, let their weaknesses become their failing. Vader had a treasonous side; Isard was overly ambitious; Zsinj was arrogant; Daala had a temper. Thrawn, a Criss, had been perhaps the greatest officer to ever don an Imperial uniform, but even he fell to a treacherous Noghri's knife when he was oblivious to certain information regarding Leia Organa Solo's relationship to Darth Vader.

"Our time has nearly elapsed."

Jhediah had given his life to the Empire, was ambitious only realistically so, was not arrogant, and had no temper. If Thrawn's only failing was that the man was not in full possession of the facts at the time of his unforeseen assassination, then Jhediah would make it a point to let no information slip through his fingers. Unlike the other figures that had dominated the Empire since the disaster at Endor, he had grown up in an era where the Empire was not the sovereign power in the galaxy. Twenty-one years old, he was born on Carida while the fledgling New Republic struck their truce with Bakura and the reptilian aliens of the Ssi-Ruuk Imperium launched their invasion in the days after Endor. He had not lived through the decades when the Galactic Empire ruled supreme over all charted space. No, he had been born to a beaten Empire, and had been charged with the duty of restoring it to its former glory, a glory he himself had never known.

"A pity it has to happen now."

His only living relative, his uncle, had seen his conviction in restoring the Empire even at six years of age, as he trained to become a Stormtrooper on Carida. His uncle had seen to it that he be transferred to the facilities on Bastion in the Tingel Arm of the galaxy, where he was subjected to thirteen years of the Empire's most vigorous program in officer training. He had missed the destruction of his homeworld by the Sun Crusher only a year. At nineteen years of age, while the Dark Jedi Brakiss' Shadow Academy was being destroyed by a band of children Jedi, Jhediah had risen from a mere promising cadet to a grand moff. The last grand moff. His posting upon receiving his new rank, Outpost Omega-7, was anything but a dream assignment for the aspiring officer, but he took it all in stride. Though commanding a lonely stronghold in the Unknown Regions beyond the Outer Rim did not offer him the opportunity to participate in any offensives against the New Republic, or even the opportunity to annex worlds into the New Order so that it might replace its lost numbers and resources, he took a small measure of pride in knowing that if the Empire's borders continued to recede, its entirety would fall back to his outpost.

Outpost Omega-7, the Empire's final frontier.

And fall back they did. The entirety of the remaining Imperial Fleet, a paltry nine 1,600-meter Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, four 900-meter Victory-class Star Destroyers, two 250-meter Lancer-class Frigates, a 600-meter Interdictor Cruiser, and a pair of dreadnaughts from the ancient _Katana_ fleet. Almost all of them were ridiculously slave-circuited due to a lack of competent crewmen. The three-fourths constructed Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, _Vacillator,_ though massive, did little to bolster their ranks. It depressed him to know the Empire had fallen so low, so badly, but he dare not show it.

Jhediah turned this time as he spoke to his visitor. "They are almost here, are they not?"

Ensign Danaaris' nervousness betrayed the news he was struggling to sugar coat. "Y-yes, sir. They must have followed Admiral Tschel's Star Destroyer from the ambush at Obroa-skai."

"The latest probe telemetry readings indicate that there are eight capital ships en route to this installment. Is this correct?"

"Yessir. Eight ships were confirmed coming out of hyperspace at Van Cappeci, then making the jump here."

Eight capital ships... The New Republic sent but seven ships to deal the final blow to the Empire. Seven ships for them to win the war.

It was an insult. It was to be the final insult.

"This was all you came to tell me?"

"Not all, sir. The admirals have received your orders, sir."

"Oh. Their commentary?"

"Sir?"

"Their reaction... what was it?"

Danaaris made an expression as if Jhediah's question was of no consequence. "Reluctance at best. It was Admiral Güthrig that made the biggest protest."

"Yes, I understand." Jhediah nodded as he spoke, "Outpost Omega-7 was to be the final frontier for the Empire, where we would make our last stand if need be, and now I ask us to draw the line even further back."

"Is that not so, sir?"

"Drawing the line back further? You see, Ensign, that is where they are wrong. I am not asking them to withdraw even further. I am asking them to look objectively at our losses, at our place in galactic affairs, and decide if this war against the New Republic is winnable."

"The Rebellion will crumble before the Third Imperium, sir." Danaaris' using of the New Republic's former identity showed the older man's deeply-rooted hatred. "We just need more time. The New Republic is only days away from intervening in the brewing Osarian-Rhommamool dispute... surely we must take advantage of this moment of weakness. We can reunify our factions, rebuild our fleet, rest—"

"None of that is going to happen, Ensign," he interrupted. "Not, at least, with the New Republic looming over us, and not in our current state. Surely you can see that. The time for hit and run sorties and tactical offensives has been over for years. Ensign, _we_ have become the Rebellion." As Danaaris offered nothing in response, Jhediah began a slow pace. "You see, Emperor Palpatine had this installation built at this specific location thirty years ago for a very good reason. Though he trusted his Empire would never need it, he was tactful enough to create himself an escape route. A tactical failsafe, if you will."

"The black hole this outpost orbits."

"The _dormant_ black hole this outpost orbits," Jhediah corrected. But not just a black hole. A rift. A gateway. Surely there was no other reason the Emperor would have had the outpost built there. He knew enough of Palpatine to know he had never done anything in his life of move and countermove without a reason. "It will stay that way until I give word otherwise."

"When shall I tell the admirals to begin departure?"

"When I give the word." Jhediah's attention turned back to the viewports of his quarters, where, in a mottling of pseudomotion, emerged eight capital ships in standard Echelon Left formation, barely visible to the naked eye. They were at least nine hundred kilometers away, but were closing fast. He murmured, still looking at the distant ships, "I give it now."

"Yessir." The ensign brought his heels together, saluted, and went to relay the message.

Left to himself, Grand Moff Jhediah went back to observing the stars and the approaching task force of ships. He would shortly be making his way to his new flagship, the _Vacillator,_ where he would supercede Admiral Güthrig as commanding officer, but for now he would allow himself the luxury of watching and waiting. He had always found there was much to learn if one only took the time to stop and look.

With a note of wonder to his voice, he whispered, "For the glory of the Empire."

A way out. A new beginning. He would make it happen.

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _VACILLATOR_

When the outpost's graviton beam shut down, the spectacle could be seen in all of its splendor through the viewports of the bridge. Where had once been nothing, a brilliant white light cast its shimmering radiance from a pocket of space two kilometers away from the outpost. Wisps and prominences of the energy-like light stretched out from the pocket, as if reaching to the fleet gathered before it.

Admiral Güthrig grunted, then took his seat on his command chair. "He didn't reconsider?"

"No, sir."

"Damn it."

Grand Moff Jhediah was a perfect example of the Empire's efforts to rush its trainees into uniform. He was practically a kid, and yet he held the governorship his grand moff title denoted. 

It had been Jhediah's stratagem that had birthed the Third Imperium. In a cunning campaign that had kicked off his rise to power, he'd—for the most part—reunified the straggler warlords and their factions in the fractured Imperial Fleet. Breaking the armistice of the Imperial-New Republic peace accords signed six years before, a new Galactic Empire was borne, one with reaffirmed dedication to the late Emperor's New Order and faith in the Empire's right to galactic sovereignty. The Grand Moff almost made the forfeit of the capital world of Bastion and their subsequent retreat into the regions of Imperial space in the Unknown Regions charted nearly two decades ago by Grand Admiral Thrawn seem as if it was all part of his plan. It might very well all prove to be, but Admiral Güthrig wouldn't give the callous youth so much credit.

Overnight Jhediah had not only become Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet by default with the death of Grand Moff Quillan and the loss of Bastion to the Republic in the past month, but had made plans to take the _Vacillator_ away from Güthrig. It was, perhaps, for the best, but that didn't mean Güthrig had to like it. He and every officer in the Fleet had enough to be bitter about as it was.

Jhediah's orders had been promptly been received ten minutes ago. Admiral Güthrig was not being so prompt about acknowledging them, but it wasn't necessary. They had only to await their greenlight, and Jhediah's shuttle.

"Grand Moff Jhediah's Tyderian has left the outpost," Commander Cavanaugh spoke behind him. "Sublight Engines at full when his shuttle is aboard, Admiral?"

"Yes. Inform the rest of the Fleet to synchronize velocity and enter the black hole at intervals of thirty seconds on our lead."

"Very good, sir."

Even as Cavanaugh went to relay his orders, Lieutenant Griere was walking toward Güthrig from one of the crewpits. "Admiral, sir! The Republic fleet, it's converging on our position. We have less than three minutes before they intercept us."

"Admiral, transmission coming in from one of the Star Cruisers!"

The feminine voice's intrusion was as abrupt as the New Republic incursion itself, _"Imperial Fleet, this Leia Organa Solo, New Republic Chief of State, speaking on behalf of President Gavrisom. Our best reconnaissance indicates that this is your last refuge. Emperor Palpatine is dead. His New Order is over. There are no more worlds held in Imperial deadlock. The Imperial Fleet has dwindled to the few skeletally crewed vessels you have gathered here." She let silence hang in the air, giving them time to think, no doubt. "I ask you to surrender now, so that the bloodshed may end here and now. It is in your power. I await your answer."_

Then she would be awaiting their answer while they were making their escape.

"MC80a, MC80b, and MC90 Mon Calamari Star Cruisers on our scopes, sir! A single MC Battle Cruiser, and an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer of their own!"

"I suspect that would be the_ Lusankya,_ Isard's old folly," Güthrig spoke, regarding the reporting Lieutenant with a dismissive snort. "Still only a task force of eight capital ships." _Eight capital ships Jhediah is asking the Imperial Fleet to flee from, _he mentally scorned the Grand Moff.

"Sir, I'm picking up squadrons of X-wings, B-wings, E-wings, A-wi—"

"That's enough, Griere!" Güthrig looked for Commander Cavanaugh among those in the crewpit to his immediate right. He found him leaning over one of the navigation consoles. "Is Jhediah's shuttle aboard yet, Commander?"

"We have him, sir!"

"Full Sublight, then," he ordered. "Into the black hole."

MON CALAMARI STAR CRUISER NRS_ DEFIANCE_

The thin white aura around the black circular mass in space dwindled as the blue sublight engines of the last Star Destroyer disappeared into it. Whatever it was, it was closing, and closing fast.

Admiral Ackbar blinked his Calamarian eyes, his gaze dancing over the faces of the crew and staff present on the bridge. He moved his repulsorlift chair beside his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Tannas. "Can you give me an answer yet, Commander?" he asked.

"Well, it appears to be a massive gravitational field generated from just beyond the outpost. If I had to guess, I would say it is a—"

"A black hole?"

The younger Mon Calamarian tipped his head at his superior. "It looks that way."

Chief of State Leia Organa Solo, on board the _Defiance_ to oversee what was hoped by all who those in the New Republic who still believed in peace to be the final confrontation with the Galactic Empire, stepped forward. "Then why are they trying to enter it?" she asked. "It was my understanding that _nothing_ can enter a black hole."

"Suicide, perhaps?" Ackbar suggested, somewhat hopefully. "They see they've lost, so why give us the privilege of destroying them in battle? I never believed surrender would be on their agenda." Admiral Ackbar then turned a glance behind him, looking at the black-garbed man seated in a state of silent, deep concentration. "Do you have any thoughts on this, Luke?"

The near-middle aged Jedi Master nodded. "That black hole... it is not a normal phenomenon. Not this one. There is... the Dark Side is about it... yes, Sith magic is about it. It is artificial, man-made, and Force-maintained." _And I sense Emperor Palpatine's hands were all over its creation,_ was the unpleasant revelation he chose to not speak of just then. Luke looked up, an expression on his face as if something great had just dawned on him. "It's not suicide. They see they've lost, yes, but it is not death they are rushing to. It is a new frontier."

"A new frontier? Then you're telling me this black hole is actually some sort of wormhole?"

"In function, not property. They are heading for a new region of space... or a new dimension... reality... maybe even a new _time_—I don't know, but they are going toward a new beginning. Excitement and confusion is about them all."

"They go to impose the Emperor's New Order on new peoples, then, ones they hope will be more susceptible than we have proven to be."

Ackbar grunted in disapproval. As perhaps one of the oldest surviving freedom fighters that had put in their share at the height of the old Rebel Alliance, he would have hoped the peace treaty signed with Admiral Pellaeon and the Empire six years ago would have put a stop to all of this. It was a hope most had shared in those historic days.

The New Republic had made compromises in the interest of peace—allowed systems that had become part of New Republic territory to return to Imperial rule at their request, guaranteed trade between Republic and Imperial worlds, and confirmed and accepted the Empire's borders. The Empire, too, compromised, temporarily retracting their New Order and allowing the enslaved and exploited nonhumans among their worlds their equality.

But old ways died hard. Even after the Empire attempted a failed resurgence through a Second Imperium backed by a Shadow Academy of Dark Jedi two years before, it was only a matter of time before unrest built to the boiling point it reached upon the consolidation of the Third Imperium's admiralty under a single grand moff.

Ackbar looked back to Tannas. "Bring up the rest of our fleet on the comm. Perhaps we can follow."

"Sir, if the readings I'm getting are correct, that black hole will collapse completely in two minutes."

Luke winced. "They're burning their bridges."

"Blast!" Ackbar exclaimed. "How many ships can get there in time?"

"Only us and our escort frigate, sir," Tannas replied. "And perhaps the _Millennium Falcon."_

Ackbar nodded at the mention of the infamous YT-1300 freighter belonging to Leia's husband. "Then we have to act quickly. Inform General Antilles and Commander Corran Horn to lead Rogue Squadron back to the _Defiance_ on the double and make Captain Solo aware of our intentions—unless I miss my guess, he may very well be interesting in participating." Ackbar turned around, acknowledging everyone on the bridge. "If anyone has objection to us following the Imperial Fleet, let it be heard now."

He could see Leia was hesitating to voice her own misgivings and the conflict that had to have been going on in her mind. Surely, even entering the black hole was a risk in itself. They might be crushed. And even if they did enter and deal with the Imperial Fleet, how did they plan on getting home afterward?

Too many lives had been snuffed out in the Empire's march across space; too many had been lost in the Old Republic and Rebellion. Entire worlds had been laid to waste, and the victim list was simply incalculable. The New Republic had come too far and paid too high a price to turn back now. If the _Defiance_ and _Liberator_ alone were to make their stand against the remainder of the Imperial Fleet, then that was how it was going to be.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Ackbar spoke, his sincere voice going warm. "Tannas, full speed into the black hole."

"Yessir." Tannas was about to go back to work at his station when he heard something in his headset that made him light up. "Sir, Captain Solo has agreed to follow our lead."

"Excellent. Continue."

As the white aura of the black hole grew larger in the viewports, the crew was growing more nervous. They had entrusted themselves to the pursuit of justice, of right. They were in the hands of fate now.

Leia took a seat beside her wizened brother, resting her elbow on his shoulder as she sighed, "I wonder what Han and Jaina think of this."

Luke took a moment to reach out with the Force, touching the minds of the father and daughter on the nearby _Falcon._ "Han is reliving his youth," he informed. "Jaina is wishing her brothers could have come along as well."

"Jacen and Anakin had better things to do than hang around their parents this time, I suppose."

"Oh, those two... they're busy on Yavin 4, watching over the Jedi Academy until my return." Luke smiled. To say he was proud of his two nephews would be an understatement. "They're my substitutes."

When the gravitational forces of the black hole began taking hold of the _Defiance_ on its entry vector, Leia whispered under her breath, "I wonder where we'll wind up."

2680.330 **A.D.**, THE MILKY WAY GALAXY. . .

THE ENYO SYSTEM, DAY QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR  
TCS _MIDWAY_

Commodore Christopher Blair took a casual stroll of his heavy fleet carrier—the first Midway-class megacarrier—for the third time that day, looking over every man and woman that crewed the vessel on the bridge level. At nearly two kilometers, not even Eisen's _St. Helens_ could measure up to the behemoth of a ship, the end result of he and his crew's labor of almost five years. Any time he found himself questioning his decision to end his teaching runs at the TCNSF Academy on Hilthros and the Fleet Service Academy in Houston to head the Armed Forces Committee's design team, he had only to take a walk on the _Midway'_s grandiose decks.

The _Midway_ had performed exceptionally well in the scuffle with the Kilrathi pirates in the Valgard System just over a week ago. The short fight was hardly a worthy trial by fire for the fleet carrier, but it did prove that the _Midway_ could indeed measure up in a combat situation. And then some.

Senator James Taggart, once known as Paladin to his wingmates, walked beside Blair as part of a thinly-veiled inspection tour. He wasn't fooling anybody. The man just wanted a look at her in person. "You and your team have built a beauty of a ship, Chris. I knew you were the right man for the job," Taggart piped. "The Admiralty has been pressing me to put the pressure on you, so I might as well ask while I'm aboard."

"Shoot."

"Have you chosen a captain yet? It's your call, you know."

"I've given it some thought," he admitted distractedly. "Commander Drake and I have pretty much agreed on Daniel Wilford."

"Vice Admiral Wilford?" Taggart's surprise seemed genuine. "Of the Union of Border Worlds Navy?"

"One and the same, though he's back with Confed and up for an assignment. It's his if he wants it."

"Huh." Taggart shrugged. "What of the flight roster? Have you got any pilots in mind for permanent posting? It isn't the _Claw,_ you know... there's an air group's worth of three flight wings to fill, you know..."

"I'm reviewing several candidates," was Blair's non-committant answer.

"I know Colonel Manley is currently the wing commander of the _Midway'_s first flight wing, but are there any shoo-ins?"

"A couple, I suppose," he ceded, passing an ensign at a navigation console. "For starters, Dirk Stingray' Wright just came in off the _Kagimishu, _who I used to fly with off the old _Concordia. _Used to be a real asshole, but we got along all right after a while. He's already thinking about retirement, so I don't know how long we'll be able to keep him. Jean Stiletto' Talvert, some kind of Academy Wonder Woman, I guess. Then there's the son of a man I flew with off the _Claw,_ Lance Casey. Another Academy prodigy. They send me updates every week and his scores are consistently among the highest. Not that you can judge a man by his scores."

Taggart cocked an eyebrow. "And... Maniac?"

"Yes, well," Blair cleared his throat. "He's received a grade reduction to major and is already aboard. He's back to his old bad self."

"Shame about him, you know. Finally promoted to colonel, given wing command of the _Kiev'_s flight wing, and now this."

"The _Kiev_ was decommissioned." Blair couldn't help but chuckle. "He had nowhere else to go."

"A real Greek tragedy, wouldn't you say?" Taggart chimed. He shrugged. "Not that signing onto the grandest ship in the Confederation Armada isn't desirable. If I were a younger man, you could be damn sure I'd be kissing ass all over the place to get on."

"Well, you kn—"

A tremor wave was felt through the deck tiles of the _Midway, _throwing all on the bridge off balance. Some even fell to the floor.

With that, the chaos began.

"Commodore!" a panicked crewman, Ensign Jarvis, shouted from a console. "There's some kind of... of gravitational anomaly opening up directly ahead of us!"

"The anomaly has closed!" another crewman informed not a second later. "Two ships—one of them definitely _capital_—are at three klicks and closing!"

Taggart stared through viewports at the front of the bridge, squinting as he observed the large, blister-shaped capital ship that was in plain view now. "Bloody hell..." he rasped.

Blair scrambled to one of the consoles and brought up profiles on the two vessels. Neither were recognized. The capital ship was nearly a kilometer and a half in length and bore multiple alien weaponry batteries. The small craft, about the size of a Hellcat fighter, didn't appear overtly militant.

After a moment of bewilderment and anxiety, the capital ship made its first move. The holoprojector emplaced in the raised ceiling of the bridge whirring to life, the holographic image of a human woman in a gown-like garment appeared.

The woman asked only one question:

_"Where is the Imperial Fleet?"_

THE KILRAH SYSTEM, KUR'U'KHAG QUADRANT, KILRAH SECTOR  
IN ORBIT OVER PLANET RAWSH  
RALARI II KIS _VHAS__'KARATH_

_"For the glory of Sivar, fight, my brethren!"_

Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki, the _Kalralahr_ of the _Vhas'Karath_ and _Kal Thak'hra_ of the royal Clan Caxki, was not about to be undermined by the cowardice of others. Visible on the starfield before him through the viewports of the flag bridge, the battle continued unabated. The gigantic, arrowhead-shaped vessels of varying capacity—spearheaded by a larger, 8 kilometer-long arrowhead-shaped vessel—and their entourage showed no sign of stopping their outtake of the different varieties of the small bone-white fighters that vaguely resembled eyeballs.

From the VDU his relay officer had on-screen of Vargas' Vaktoth squadron, Thokkarh could see it wasn't going well.

Though the strange fighters the enemy vessels were pouring from their innards were small and shieldless, their variety, agility, seemingly infinite number, and the orderly, methodical manner in which they struck was taking a heavy toll on everything they were throwing at them.

The face of a green-suited man—a Terran male, by the looks of him—appeared over the viewports, overlaying the battle scene. "I am Grand Moff Jhediah of the Super Star Destroyer _Vacillator._ I speak for the Imperial Fleet of the Third Imperium. Our TIE Fighter squadrons have bested your own complements. Our Star Destroyers have routed and immobilized your fleet. You will lay down your arms and prepare to be boarded. Know that in the days to come your peoples will accept our New Order and become a part of the Galactic Empire. Or die. I await the reply of your representatives."

"Sire, he expects a response!" shouted his _Tho'reari,_ Vharvek, moments later.

The Kilrathi Assembly of Clans. Eleven years after the destruction of their homeworld of Kilrah by the Terran Confederation, that name meant nothing. Applied to the loose union of Great and Lesser Clans that survived the decades-long war with the Terrans, it was a joke. And a cruel one.

The Empire of Kilrah was gone. No one could bring it back. Many a Kilrathi had committed _Zu'kara_ rather than live as the disgraced people they had become since its dissolution.

They had to be strong in the days ahead. They had to be vigilant. Their old enemies, the Mantu, were still skirmishing along their outer borders and the Prophecy of Kt'lan and Sivar still loomed over the masses. Eleven years had been spent getting the Kilrathi to the point they were at—which, aside from minor military reconstruction, was embarrassingly nowhere. Were their numbers to be slashed again, there would be no clans left to keep an assembly.

"I cannot speak for all of my people, the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans, but I speak for my clan," Thokkarh began, doing his best to hold his rising anger at bay. "Bowing down before another race of hairless apes will bring no honor, only humility. I offer instead an alliance."

"Alliance?" the Grand Moff snapped. "Unacceptable. Your worlds will be annexed with or without your consent."

"You are alien to this region of space, am I correct?" Thokkarh pressed. "I offer an exchange of knowledge, of technology—even what is left of our fleets to your purpose."

The man seemed to consider that. "I am listening."

"I myself, as _Kal Thak'hra_—leader—of Clan Caxki, can give you my word that Clan Caxki, Clan Ragitagha, and Clan Kur'u'tak, and possibly others will pledge allegiance to your Empire on one special consideration."

"And what consideration would that be? Do keep in mind who has the power to decimate your worlds."

"That together we can venture into the space of a union of peoples known as the Terran Confederation, take what we can from them, then destroy them utterly."

Grand Moff Jhediah put on his best tight, salty grin. "I believe you and I may be able to negotiate further."

**CONT...**


	2. Chapter I

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter I : Crossroads

**_15 YEARS AGO. . ._**

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _ECLIPSE II_  
ABOVE PLANET ONDERON

Omega Leader, this is Control. Return to the _Eclipse II_ immediately. Acknowledge, over." Imperial General Maarek Stele bit back a curse as he tried to maneuver inside the wingspan of the E-wing in front of him. These New Republic ships were getting faster and faster all the time. He finally dropped into position and let off a burst from his three-winged Defender's laser cannons. The E-wing disintegrated in the silence of space, leaving behind a rapidly expanding ball of gas in its place.

"Control, this is Omega Leader. What gives? We're being swamped out here and you want me to return to ship _now?"_

"That is correct, Leader. You are ordered by the Emperor himself to land and proceed immediately to his chamber."

Muttering futilely to himself, Stele broke off from the main battle and started toward the 17.5 kilometer _Eclipse II,_ the jet black flagship of the twice resurrected Emperor. With careful handling he landed in the docking bay reserved especially for his squadron to utilize. Hopping out of his TIE Defender, he ran to the exit, and from there went through a system of turbolifts and walkways to reach the Emperor's throne chamber. The door was guarded by two red-garbed Royal Guards, who snapped to attention and drew back their force pikes at his approach.

He palmed open the door, and stepped inside. There was no fear in Stele this time, none of the giddy nervousness that had always crept into him in every one of the earlier instances he had met with the Emperor.

_Emperor Palpatine... the only hope for unity and strength._ Years ago, Maarek had made that his motto.  
  
"General, please come closer." Palpatine's voice was a low hissing sound. Stele did as he was told and knelt before his lord.

His head bowed to the floor, he asked, "Sire, what do you require of me?"

"Arise, General, and take this gift I offer you." At this, Palpatine laid a single object in his hand. It was a ring, wrought of platinum with three stone set in it. An emerald and two onyxes, cased in gold. "This is means by which you will pass on the true leadership of the Empire, once I am gone. One day, you will have to use your judgment to find an heir to title of emperor. I trust you will choose wisely. Now hold out your arm."

Maarek pulled his sleeve back, exposing the intricate mark of the Emperor's Reach. Palpatine raised his hand, and Dark Side lightning flowed from his fingertips to the tattoo. When the pain passed and Maarek looked at his arm, the device had gone from a light blue to a dark crimson. "Go now, instruct your squadron to retreat and scatter. Leave my ship now, Guardian of the Empire." With that, and a final flash of his reptilian eyes, the Emperor left through a private doorway, to where, Stele did wonder at. Instead, he ran back to his waiting TIE Defender and took off.

Not five minutes later, the mighty _Eclipse II_ shuddered and took off into hyperspace on what would be its final voyage to collide with the Galaxy Gun and burn in the proximity to the exploding planet and then-throneworld Byss in the Galactic Deep Core. General Maarek Stele, Guardian of the Empire, passed the word to the two surviving members of his squadron, and then made the jump to lightspeed, leaving a devastated Rebel fleet in his wake.

He knew now it would be longer still until he was to again see his homeworld of Kuan. There would be a day...

**_PRESENT. . ._**

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _VACILLATOR;_ HANGAR  
THE KILRAH SYSTEM, KUR'U'KHAG QUADRANT, KILRAH SECTOR  
NOV 26 2680/2680.330; 0635 HOURS (CST)

_"General Stele to the bridge, General Stele to the bridge."_

The man in question straightened from his position beneath the aft end of his personal Mark III.B Missile Boat, retrofitting the craft's engines. He was clad in a non-descript black flightsuit, bearing only his name and rank. He wiped his hands off with a rag that was lying nearby, and started for the bridge. That first battle with the rebels in their own galaxy had yielded no kills for him, and then the fight against the aliens when they had appeared here in this galaxy had given him three kills, but in the process he had lost four squadrons worth of fighters and had sustained minor damage himself to his engines. As he rode the turbolift vertically over a few hundred decks, and laterally over a few kilometers, he thought back to his career and how it had landed him aboard this ship. Graduating from the Imperial Pilots Academy just in time for the wrap-up of the Battle of Hoth, serving on various fronts against various enemies for a year until the Battle of Endor, being personally responsible for saving the Emperor's life on two occasions in that short time, rising to the rank of brigadier before the end of the first war... all of it seemed so long ago.

Following the Emperor's final death, he returned to Coruscant and served under Iceheart until _her_ death, then embarking on a whirlwind tour of commanders for two and a half years. Zsinj, Harrsk, Teradoc, various splinter groups and the leaders of various revolutionary factions—anyone who stood to better the Empire. Then came the reappearance of Grand Admiral Thrawn, who Stele had served under as far back as when Thrawn had been a vice admiral in charge of a measly Victory-class Star Destroyer. For a year, Stele had believed that the Empire would finally have a chance at winning. Then came Bilbringi, and the death of Thrawn. Not two weeks after that disaster, Stele had been recalled to Byss by the cloned Emperor to train with eleven of the best pilots the Empire had. They were called Omega Squadron, the best and the last. They were the only flight squadron in the order of the Royal Guard. When the _Eclipse II_ had gone up with the Galaxy Gun and Byss, only three had made it through the ensuing battle. Besides himself, they were General Jacob Skipper, the Crown Prince of the Renatasia System; and Fleet Admiral Vonture, who was heading up an Imperial Special Operations Group out past the rim. The next few years up until his transfer to the _Vacillator_—at the request of one Grand Moff Jhediah—had been very eventful. First came Daala's campaign of terror that had ended over Yavin, then a brief stint reconditioning the Black Fleet after their re-capture from the Yevetha. Six years later, Stele had once again been under the command of the then-Admiral Pellaeon, helping to uncover the web of treachery Moff Disra had spun about himself just before the initial peace talks.

Neither any of the naval officers nor the disgruntled-looking Admiral Güthrig gave him a second look as he made his way across the walkway between the crewpits of the _Vacillator_'s bridge. The grand moff he sought was leaning against a console by a bulkhead, but quickly came to attention and turned to face him as he approached. The tall man looked about as young as Stele was when he had been not-quite-voluntarily drafted into the Imperial Navy. "General Stele, I presume," Jhediah greeted.

"At your service, sir," Stele replied, saluting.

Jhediah nodded at the respectful gesture, his gaze now setting firmly on Stele. In that instant, despite the Grand Moff's younger age, Stele couldn't help but feel he was standing in the presence of an Imperial leader who knew what he was doing. Not to say that he hadn't felt the same way about past such leader icons. "It has come to my attention that while the sheer might of our capital ships is formidable enough to instate the New Order over this galaxy, our starfighter complements are somewhat... shall we say, inferior to what we stand to face from this Terran Confederation."

"I was shown the specs of these Confederation fighters. It was my immediate realization as well."

"We have every allied Kilrathi shipyard operating at our whim," Jhediah explained. "Effective immediately, the TIE Defender, TIE Phantom, Missile Boat, and TIE Robotic projects are to effectively be brought out of retirement and put into full production. All unshielded TIE Interceptors and Bombers are to be equipped with complete deflector shield projectors in cooperation with Kilrathi technicians—they believe their method of shielding is more energy-efficient."

"And what of our standard fare of TIEs?"

Jhediah gave a flippant but balanced look. "Scrap them for material. They are useless here and would cost us time and manpower to make the necessary upgrades that could be put to far more practical use elsewhere."

"Very well," Stele acknowledged, wondering if that was the extent of his errand. "Is that all, sir?"

"One more thing. It has also come to my attention that nearly all of the fighters you and your pilots will be flying against will be flying afterburner-equipped fighters. This gives them an immediate and clear speed and agility advantage over whatever we could throw at them—save for the Missile Boat."

"The SLAM overdrive system," Stele noted. It was essentially the Missile Boat version of an afterburning system—laser power is siphoned to an overdrive system that doubled speed. Elementary enough technology, but it had proven long ago to be not quite cost efficient to a dying Empire.

"Yes, the SLAM. But here, SLAM is quite obsolete. No, I want you to see that our starfighters are outfitted with Kilrathi-issue afterburners. Every one, no matter how long it takes." Jhediah paused for a moment, evidently considering something at the last minute. "Oh, you might see if our Hyperdrive technology would do anything to bolster our Kilrathi allies' technology. It is my understanding that this Jump Drive they employ does have its perks—as travel time is zero—but it eliminates any chance of launching a surprise attack, given that you can only jump from one mapped jump point' to another, and such jumping could and would be easily anticipated by even the most dim-witted of enemies."

Stele suppressed a sigh, clearly unenthused about his task. All of his years of service, and he was now reduced to a messenger? "Yessir."

"That will be all then, General. I'm sure you'll perform your duties to the best of your abilities."

"Of course, sir."

Jhediah grinned. "That's why I requested you. Go."

In a foreign galaxy with no turning back, there was now little hope of him ever seeing Kuan again. Stele was coming to accept this. He took solace in rededicating himself to the continuation and absolution of the Empire. He would serve the dead Emperor Palpatine's cause, and die for it if need be.

TCS _MIDWAY;_ DOCKING BAY 15  
THE ENYO SYSTEM, DAY QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR  
0900 HOURS (CST)

The cumbersome, bulky, patch-worked vessel identified earlier as the _Millennium Falcon_ landed itself on the cool bay deck as it vented cooling fluids and vapor waste, then engaging its landing struts. From what Commodore Blair could identify from the unmatched hull discoloration, the vessel before him had been greatly modified prior to this extra-galactic event. And it looked like it had always needed it, since the ship seemed to be on the verge of falling apart.

_Don't judge the book by its cover, _Blair reminded himself. Up at Bridge Command, he scrutinized with extreme curiosity the tactical data collected on both of the recently unknown hull configurations of both ships supposedly aligned with an extra-galactic government called the New Republic.

The capital ship _Defiance_ and its 300-meter Nebulon-B escort frigate, _Liberator,_ were currently in flank with the _Midway_. The MC-90 Mon Calamari Star Cruiser _Defiance_ was decked out with fighter bays, 48 "turbolaser" batteries, 20 ion batteries, and 6 "proton torpedo" missile launchers—the works. Battle worthy, even when compared to Blair's creation. This hunk-of-a-junk called the _Falcon _had been equipped with two lower and upper quad weapons turrets, engine modifications, and a small missile launcher. The mystery of just what kind of heat the gun turrets spit made Blair a little wary.

All in all, this _Millennium Falcon_ was a starship Blair wouldn't have minded taking with him when he hit the pastures like other Confed vets before him. In the back of his mind, the clock constantly ticked down to Pasture Time.

_Two years_, the Commodore predicted, _two years and I'll be on some gutter planet sucking down a beer and complaining about myself having no war to fight in._

Finally, after about minute of venting and situating, the ramp leading into this "freighter" released from its closed position. Slowly, it landed on the hard durasteel deck with a resonant _clank_.

Chris walked toward the dark entrance, the only sounds being the hum of the _Midway_'s large, over-powered engines and his own heartbeat. Almost when he was about to call out to these New Republicans, a ragged, scruffy-looking man started down the ramp, a young girl in an orange flightsuit walking fast to catch up to him. The man's brown hair was unkempt, and he smelled of coolant fluid and hardware lubrication. Blair estimated this man to be in his late forties. The girl couldn't have been any older than seventeen or eighteen.

Chris greeted the man with a friendly handshake, but it went untouched. Blair looked to his eyes in diplomatic wonder. They were in unbelievable shock, almost on the edge of disbelief. Chris was again about to speak out, ask the man what was wrong. It was unnecessary. Leaving the young girl standing perplexed, the hard-bitten man ran back up the ramp and shouted into his ship, "Luke! _Luke!_ Get down here, and make sure you go to the bathroom beforehand. We sure don't want a mess on these people's nice, shiny star cruiser." The man ran back up the entrance.

Blair sighed in disbelief and studied the ship some more. Half a minute passed, maybe more, before another figure walked out onto the deck. This one was in a hooded cloak, and Blair noticed it had been woven from some type of fabric resembling dark brown burlap. From the figure's posture, Blair could only guessed he was in shock like the rugged man before him. Blair heard only a few mumbled words from the shadowy person, and was unable to define them. The mysterious one removed his hood, and Blair almost fainted...

It was the Commodore's face, but at the same time it wasn't. It possessed a few less wrinkles and scars, and was rather clean and cleanly shaven with no mustache or goatee. He had a light skin tone, but it was the eyes of his mirrored counterpart that drew Blair's attention. _I guess pain, grief, and terror isn't part of the looks._

His "mirror" drew some sort of elongated cylindrical device, and finally spoke, "I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master." His eyes were now wide. "You... you are also—"

"No, but an educated guess none the less." Blair commented, and rubbed his sweaty palms. He was nervous. _Why? _He asked himself. _These are humans, not Cats. _"My name is Christopher Blair. I'm a commodore in the Terran Confederation Space Navy." He wanted to say more to this "Jedi" Skywalker, but his friends walked down the ramp.

There was the scruffy-looking man, followed by the young girl he had seen before and a gold-plated automaton along with another beeping cybernetic counterpart that roughly resembled one of the mobile trashcans most older carriers employed. Behind those four walked a small lovely woman that Blair had seen up on the bridge before. The hologram projections had never shown her wide brown eyes and beautiful brown hair in detail. Her hair was tied back tightly, stretching her forehead tightly back also, and the topknot was thoroughly braided.

_I could get to know her_ Suddenly a foreign presence entered his mind, brushing across his thoughts with grace.

"I am New Republic Chief of State Leia Organa Solo," the lovely woman spoke with a silver voice of kindness and the hint of a smile, "and sorry, I am taken."

_She can read minds!_

Blair was far beyond shock, his jaw now hanging loose from his face. The scruffy-looking man stood behind the right side of the Chief of State. "And I'm Han Solo, captain of the _Millennium Falcon_." He leaned forward a little and smiled, whispering, "I'm the husband."

_Crazy to fly that rusty bird; lucky to find a woman like that, _Blair mused. "I was supposed to escort you to meet with my fellow officers but before I do that I would like to converse privately with your friend, Jedi Skywalker. If it is of no inconvenience to you people, that is."

"Oh, no, not at all," Leia said, understanding and smiling. "Given the situation, I myself would have to suggest you two talk." Exchanging a glance with Blair's mirror, she went to her husband. The pair of automatons and the young girl following, Han and her walked back up the ramp into the _Falcon._

Skywalker moved toward Blair. Blair moved toward Skywalker. The two studied each other, and again Blair felt a peaceful foreign brush against his thoughts.

"You people are telepaths," Blair said defensively, "I can feel you inside my mind, behind my eyes, poking me, prodding me."

Luke calmed him. He seemed deadly serious, but he couldn't hide his curiosity. "It is a power of the Jedi, which Leia and I are. The Force as our ally, we protect our galaxy from terror and injustice. You seem to be of the same physical makeup as I. Neural pathways and all, I sense." He arched an eyebrow. "I'd have to see a blood sample and get a midi-chlorian count on you, but right now I see no scientific reason you aren't Force-sensitive... but then the same could be said about millions from my own galaxy. The Force hardly applies to modern science."

Blair frowned, trying to take it all in. "The Force?"

"An energy field created by all living things. We manipulate it, using it for our abilities. Let me show you." Luke threw the long cylindrical device away from him, and Blair was just about to catch it. However, it froze in mid-air, hanging there with ease, like it had always belonged there. "The Force is much harder to manipulate in this galaxy. For this I have no idea why."

"Telekinetic, telepathic... okay. And I suppose you people shoot lightning out of your fingertips as well." Blair smiled, almost in passive disbelief of his powerful doppelganger.

_Only Dark Jedi utilize that ability, friend, _Luke answered inside his mind. _Only the ones who have lost their battle with the Dark Side..._

Blair jumped, once again surprised at this encounter. "Um Well, we should probably get underway now."

Luke placed his hood back over his head and raised his hand. "No, Commodore, wait. I have something to give to you." Once again he pulled out a cylindrical device almost identical to the one still hanging in mid-air, but this one was shiny black with a white button. Quickly, it darted for Blair's open palm. Chris caught it on reflex and grasped it tightly.

"It's called a lightsaber. It is a Jedi's prime weapon... has been for millennia." A mysterious expression crept across Luke's face. "I had originally built it as a gift for one of my students, but instead I give this as a gift to you. Its blade is very dangerous, and can cut through nearly anything and everything. Use it wisely, and only in extreme conditions."

Blair stood away from Luke now, and pressed the white button. Before a second had even begun to pass, the white energetic blade had come forth with a distinctive _snap-hiss_, and began to hum rhythmically. The Commodore heard Skywalker in his mind:

_Even if you cannot feel it or manipulate it as I can, the Force is still with you. Always._

TCS _MIDWAY;_ OBSERVATION DECK  
0945 HOURS (CST)

Leia, Han, Luke, Jaina, R2-D2, C-3PO, Chewbacca, Admiral Ackbar, Blair, CAG Drake, and Senator Taggart sat around the oval table discussing the situation that had brought the seven visitors to their current state. There was a certain level of mistrust on the O-Deck, with a detail of four TCMC Marines keeping an eye on the _Midway'_s seated guests from both sides of the room's lift and a trio of Leia's ghostly-gray elite Noghri bodyguards standing around the table.

Sixteen year-old Jaina Solo stirred in her uncomfortable seat, her hand playing with the handle of her lightsaber. She was starting to become restless as the meeting dragged on. After the initial pleasantries died down, those in the room had taken to analyzing the situation from every angle. While C-3PO rattled off statistics, Chewbacca only growled.

"You are certain you people came from another galaxy?" Taggart asked at one point early on, more out of curiosity than any official need-to-know.

"Oh, yes, Senator, sir," C-3PO, the gold-plated protocol droid, answered with a little too much enthusiasm, even as Leia was about to respond. "The star charts this starship's chief of stellar cartography was kind enough to show me show conclusively that, cross-referenced, our own elliptical galaxy, identified by your records as the Fornax Galaxy' is quite different—and quite displaced, in observing our native galaxy's redshift, though I cannot be certain by how much—from this Milky Way' of yours. If memory serves, this galaxy—codenamed MA-31'—as it was observed in our galaxy, had a significantly shorter redshift from ours... a difference of some five million light years to its redshift in the present. Going on the theory that the universe is constantly expanding and galaxies are pushed outward, increasing he redshift between galaxies, it's as if my colleagues and I have traveled not only across galaxies, but across time itself—to the future. Our future. But then aga—"

"Okay, I'm sure that's all good and fascinating, but I think we get the idea, Goldenrod," Han Solo cut him off. Jaina's dad had never been one for science fiction.

"But, sir—"

"Shut it, Professor." Han won, as he always did.

"You know, Organa Solo," Commander Drake spoke, "it's interesting to me... our written languages are so different—ours being alpha-numeric, yours being almost hieroglyphic—yet our spoken languages are... well, exactly the same. You New Republicans don't even have an accent."

"I really don't know," Leia said. "We speak what is called Basic,' which is what the Old Republic adopted as its root language for a hundred generations, and kept throughout the coming of the Empire and New Republic."

"And we speak what is called Confed Standard,' which is just a nice way of saying English,'" Taggart spoke in turn.

Leia turned a glance. "Ah, English...?"

"As in from England... you know—on Earth. Oh..." Taggart sighed, remembering who he was talking to. "Hmmm... never mind. Forgive me."

Jaina's thoughts went out to her twin brother and Anakin, whom she found she missed more with every passing hour. Jaina felt a shiver as she realized that she may never see them or their own galaxy ever again—but she couldn't think about that. Not now. She had to be strong.

"So let me understand this..." Commodore Blair had neared the end of the hour-long meeting, and had begun to present the facts before his old battle comrade, fellow command officer, and the New Republicans. Jaina doubted she would ever get used to his resemblance to her uncle. "This Empire, if under the right circumstances, could become a large problem for our galaxy?"

Skywalker answered him, Jedi robes presenting him as an omniscient advisor with an enigmatic presence. Cutting through this motif was a smirk. "Calling them a problem, even a large one, is an understatement. The Galactic Empire rules by fear and force to make that fear very stable. They call this their New Order, something we all fought for all our worth in the days when the New Republic was known as the Rebel Alliance. The remnants of the Empire are now small; twenty ships more or less, and is little more than a sad but unsaid joke... but they are resourceful. We cornered them in our galaxy, but like a cornered Krayt Dragon, they had one last move. That move was coming here. Now, with the right tactical moves they could fast become a very real and deadly threat."

Han sat uneasily in his chair, rolling a coin around in his sweaty palms. Glancing at him, Jaina figured by now her father was used to such frequent formal meetings. He had been often involved in them in the past since, even after he turned in his active commission for the second time many years ago. "Way I see it," he began, "the first thing they would do, as anybody would in their circumstance, would be to make an alliance. They would trade some technology, technical information, star charts anything of value around these parts."

"Weapons? Defense systems?" Commander Patricia Drake asked, her eyes tired with duty. It was obvious she hadn't slept for over thirty-six hours.

"That would most definitely be number one," Han told her with a sad sigh.

Jaina cleared her throat, then asking the obvious question, "But if the Third Imperium has formed an alliance... who has it formed it with?"

For one moment, the whole group sat silently, pondering the situation. Pondering what actions could be taken.

Blair spoke first. "The problem we have to face now is where in the galaxy the wormhole sent them. Current Exploratory Services star charts have only a fourth of this galaxy mapped. That gives your Imperials a whole lot of breathing space."

Leia stood, and answered with a steel determination Jaina had always admired about her mother, "Wherever they are, we will find them. We will end them and their decades-long reign of terror. Freedom will be brought to both our galaxies at whatever the cost."

Han laid a comforting hand over his wife's. He must have known what she was thinking. "Leia..."

She continued, "My home planet was lost due to them and countless others were annexed. I will not let them do what they did to me to anyone else again.

"On behalf of the New Republic, I respectfully ask for an alliance with the Terran Confederation with the objectives of finding and ending the Galactic Empire. I will appeal before your Senate and Joint Chiefs if I have to."

Senator Taggart stood proud and ran his fingers through his hair while straightening his fine suit. He formally addressed her, "As Assembly Master and Speaker of the Confederation Senate, I accept your proposal. Freedom from this Galactic Empire of yours will be won at any cost, whatever the price."

Even with everything else losing her in her thoughts, Jaina thought of Taggart's words, running them over in her mind.

_At any cost, whatever the price._

KIT _VHAS'KARATH EIGHT_  
THE KILRAH SYSTEM, KUR'U'KHAG QUADRANT, KILRAH SECTOR  
IN ORBIT OVER PLANET RAWSH  
1030 HOURS (CST)

Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki stood at the forward viewport of the shuttle's cockpit and watched in reserved awe as the Imperial ship _Vacillator_ ominously cruised by, nearly as long as a Kilrathi dreadnought but many times more massive. What's more, it was impressive, shaped as a diamond-like blade, very much akin to the traditional Kilrathi spacecraft design of using cutting weapons as models. Thokkarh looked at her weapon arrays, extending and retracting his claws anxiously.

_If I had such a battleship during the war with the Terrans I would have spilt a path of ape blood to the Terran homeworld; to Nak'tara itself,_ he thought silently to himself. Thokkarh, feeling the cramped shuttle start to slow, moved himself away from the window and looked over to Baron Jakh'ja of the Clan Ragitagha.

Jakh'ja was a young cub compared to himself, his fur still golden, his muzzle and teeth showing his Royal breeding and heritage. Licking his chops, Jakh'ja appeared similarly awed by the sight, and cared not to hide it due to his inexperience. Yet, his face also showed suspicion and doubt in reaction to the new fleet positioned in the vicinity.

"Impressive," the young one commented with a low growl. "A wondrous ship. With our new alliance we shall have the technology and the power to finally defeat the Terrans. We shall finally restore our honor in the eyes of Sivar."

The Lord was confident. These foreign humans had technology that surpassed the Confederation's, as well as the Kilrathi's own archaic weapons of the past. He felt anxious to finally fight again, to defeat the Terrans, driving them back and give new meaning of what it truly was to be Kilrathi.

"True," Thokkarh replied. "But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Let us not overestimate the Terrans as so many of our forefathers have done in the past. The humans are strong, yes, yet we must go slowly and make sure that we do not make the same mistakes. Also, we must remember that aside from the Terrans, we must also deal with the Mantu, and the _Kn'thrak_ that has been prophesied to return since the dawn of our great race."

Jakh'ja took in a breath and sat back, looking out at the Imperial ship, obviously deep in thought.

Thokkarh recited Jakh'ja's words to himself, thinking back to the Emperor and his idiotic grandson, how they failed to bring victory so many times at the cost of so many others. Now the battle with the Mantu would be many eights difficult than what was expected ten years ago.

"Let us not think of this now," spoke Baron Ha'karah of the Kur'u'tak clan, curling back his lips in a fierce grin that bared his silver-plated teeth. "We still must negotiate' with these Imperial humans as to exactly what we shall do."

Jakh'ja merely nodded in agreement. Thokkarh grunted fashionably, seeing the wisdom in Ha'karah's words. He started to wonder exactly what to expect from the Imperial grand moff. Suddenly, he felt the rumble of the oversized engines and the ship starting to decelerate for landing. Thokkarh stood, and waited.

PLANET RAWSH; NEW KILRAH CITY, CONFERENCE HALL  
1045 HOURS (CST)

Baron Jakh'ja _nar_ Ragitagha was seated uneasily across of the chamber, watching the Grand Moff enter the hall, each of his footsteps echoing. Jakh'ja tried to keep his fur relaxed and his tail in an impassive position, not to convey his feelings to the other noble barons present and especially to the Imperial humans.

The Conference Hall was built from a time of early expansion, just when the people were given the capability to reach for the cosmos by the technology of the foolishly generous Shata and Utara races. This place was the production of eagerness in intersystem colonization. It was slowly built with the best achievements of past Kilrathi cultures' golden ages embedded into the architectural design. Pure majesty could not even accurately describe the beauty of the entire Hall. The painted ceiling was so high above the Baron's head that the lights suspended from the support arches were mere pinpoints of their actual size. This place was immense, a remnant... no, a _pillar _of Kilrathi glory.

After a few minutes of diplomatic pleasantries and mindless chattering and some bickering, an Imperial ensign began to quiet the people, "Attention, attention! The Rawsh Conference of the Kilrathi-Imperial Terran Alliance will now begin!"

The growls of the Kilrathi and the whispers of the Imperials soon ended.

Grand Moff Jhediah straightened his tunic, then addressed the Kilrathi Clan Caxki baron Thokkarh, "Now before going into the plans I had relayed to you in regard to your shipyards and our lines of starfighters, I would like to begin this conference by respectfully inquiring what your main objective in this coalition with us is." His voice was loud with a domineering tone.

The _Kal Thak'hra_ stood up proudly, taking a deep breath before beginning, "I would never lie to you or my brethren: I wish our children to play along the vast landscapes of Terra, to search for ape prey and smell the blood of the near extinct. I wish our children to walk out under the rays of the yellow sun, and to crush a thousand eights human skulls beneath their claws. To have the last human cry out in pain as they begged for mercy, that would be poetry to our ears. Then, and only then, would my race be whole again."

The Kilrathi that were attending the Conference rose up behind their leader, roaring gallantly and banging loudly his unsheathed claws against the consoles. The wrawls echoed inside the great hall, ending only a half-minute later. With beckoning from the Baron himself, all of them quieted with only a few growls being heard.

Jhediah finally responded only after everything was orderly again, "I apologize beforehand if you take objection to my next few words, but I must say your mission is short-sighted and hatred-born. However, if that is what you wish for, then that shall be what you receive."

Thokkarh took no offense, or at least did not show that he did. "With all due respect, Imperial Leader, your time here has been short. You have not been here for over four eights of years. All of us older Kilrathi have seen entire battle groups of cruisers destroyed under the Terrans' guile and dishonor. They have poisoned our worlds; slain our _hrai._ They are a plague to be cured and ridden of. Surely they would resist to your New Order as they have resisted submission... annihilation from us."

Jhediah paused, and a Tactical Advisor whispered to him for a few seconds. The Grand Moff placed his attention back to the Kilrathi seated across the hall. "Actually, these Terrans' as you call them, have said the same things about you. Your conflict with them appears to be one with an inevitable end of mutual extinction."

Against diplomatic protocol, the Baron Jakh'ja bristled beyond control. _"Tengek loshk gohr Imperiak nar Humars!"_ he swore in his native language. "You shall not communicate with those... those... those _shits!"_

With that, the Baron stormed out through the double-door entranceway of the Conference Hall. In the process, he had sent two white-clad Stormtroopers sprawling out of his way.

Jhediah only showed a straight face, one of neither fear nor overt courage. In pure coldness, accompanied with an icy glare, he asked only one question: "Thokkarh, my good friend, what did he say in his native tongue?"

"Hmm?" Thokkarh growled, less-than-cooperatively.

"I will ask you again. What did he say in his native language?"

Thokkarh thought a long moment. "Nothing. He said nothing. Only mindless cursing that cannot be accurately translated." However, he repeated it over in his mind

_Tengek loshk gohr Imperiak nir harakhs juit! A knife to the back still enters the heart, Imperial Human or not._

**CONT...**


	3. Chapter II

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter II : Communion

TCS _MIDWAY__;_ AIR GROUP REC ROOM  
THE LUYTEN SYSTEM, VEARRIER QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
HOLDING POSITION, ESCORTING NRS _DEFIANCE_  
NOV 27 2680/2680.331; 2030 HOURS (CST)

The beige color motif of the Pilot Country Mess Hall darkened in color as the lights dimmed. It was late, and most of the Day Staff had turned in. The Night Staff, only two thirds in number of the Day Staff, did not tread around Pilot Country at this hour of night. Major Dirk "Stingray" Wright rubbed the coming slumber out of his eyes in order to pay more attention to this fellow veteran pilot in front of him.

All of them sat at the round table in the corner of the lounge. Not much light was in this area, and Dirk could barely make out the faces of his comrades. Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley, wing commander of one of the _Midway'_s three flight wings, was eating avidly some sort of Oriental delicacy, and the young vixen 2nd Lt. Jean "Stiletto" Talvert was mesmerized by the words of the foreign pilot off the NRS _Defiance._

He whispered fast, but audibly. It seemed as if he was reliving every moment of action inside his mind. Dirk sucked down the last of his liquor and listened to the rest of the man's yarn. "... so I heard over the comm, Red Five, I'm going in.' Although I didn't give a damn in the Force what that rookie was doing, I had my own problem to deal with. Gun towers packing turbolasers were all around my position and it was my job to render them inoperable for Gold Squadron to get into the trench safely. Green bolts of dangerous energy had replaced the visions of the starry blackness and I was starting to think this one was it. I thought we were, as you say, hosed. After I saw a few of Red Squadron pilots take out a couple gun towers, I began to think we had a good fighting chance..."

_At least this guy is modest,_ Dirk thought. No other pilot of General Antilles' merits would admit that they had at one time been afraid for their life or failure of the mission. Stingray had talked to the other pilots of Rogue Squadron, under Wedge's command. They had spoken highly of the General, actually calling him the best fighter pilot in the galaxy. Theirs, that is.

Dirk, however, had his own merits. He was survivor of the _Concordia'_s Demise, Hero of Mak'Rahn and the Dagger of Operation: Catapult.

But also, from the Kilrathi's point of view, he was the _Bak ti Juikarr._

He was the Murderer of Innocents. Coming from the Cats', that was a particularly harsh title.

Dirk forced the account out of his mind, telling himself as his superiors and he had told himself many times before that it wasn't his fault. Their IFF recognition signals were off... they invited their own massacre.

Wedge had been going on and on for the last half-hour. "So this time it isn't Luke, it's me and Lando with the _Millennium Falcon._ I sent my flight in with me along with the freighter, but by the time I reached the core just Lando and I were alive. That hit me pretty hard... and it took quite a while for me to rebuild my squadron."

"But this second Death Star... did you destroy it?" Stiletto asked, wide-eyed.

"Yep, one of the greatest moments in history, other than when we took Coruscant—Imperial Center in those days. The battle turned after that. The Imperials were suddenly Tauntauns at a Wampa convention. We got a good piece of their entire fleet that day at Endor. Hours later the New Republic was organized. The rest was history."

The four were silent for a moment, except for Hawk chewing on his meal. Jean looked over at Hawk, who was the only one not giving a good word to the new guy. "Colonel, do you have any comment on General Antilles' feats?" Stiletto asked with over-the-top protocol.

Hawk stopped chewing dead in his tracks, sat straight up, and cleaned off his mouth with his napkin. His face was straight, and showed little if no emotion. "I have seen dozens of pilots from around the galaxy all saying they are better than him, or me. You're no different except for the fact that you are a long way from where they call you a legend, _friend."_

The General spoke harshly in defense, "Look, I'm not trying to say I'm better than this Blair person. I'm just telling—"

Hawk interrupted, "Doesn't matter, the truth is the truth." Hawk was angry now, and Stiletto knew it. The Colonel whipped out his long, wicked looking knife and stuck it into the table with a shocked look on Wedge's face. With a harsh whisper, he spoke, "No one, and I mean no one, beats Blair. He saved all of our asses more than five times over."

With that, Hawk got up and took his knife and tray with him. Soon after, he left. The group of three was now silent.

Stiletto sighed. Since when had Hawk turned into a Blair Fan? She wasn't close friends with Blair, and hadn't gotten a chance to work with him much yet. His exploits were the stuff of legends, though. Vids had been made of him and his life and he had been featured on talk shows and in magazines. ISNBC and TCN had spent weeks after the Treaty of Torgo signing simply discussing Blair. Political critics applauded him and his bravery along with many other military officials. Interviews were shown along with in-depth reports on his persona. It was enough to make anyone sick, but also thankful.

The Academy was something else entirely. Classes on Blair's exploits and flying techniques in Flight School were now mandatory. Every cadet had to study him and his moves. It was almost as if the Confederation wanted to pump out every pilot to be a Heart of the Tiger.

That was impossible, though. No one could be Blair. He had a certain fire; an edge that nobody else possessed. The ability to face certain and almost absolute death in order to save countless others, and maybe even the ability to kill without remorse. To kill without considering your own actions, but just knowing that for each one you killed a hundred others would be safe from death. Other things, nameless things, made Blair what he was in the past and the present.

After a mild chat about Hawk's quiet fire of an outburst, Stingray and Stiletto left. Wedge sat alone now, the only sounds were the humming of the _Midway_'s powerful engines and himself munching on this meal Stingray had called a "Tossed Salad."

The double doors leading into Pilot Country whooshed open. A figure, which Wedge had wanted to talk to ever since Hawk's speech, stepped in and sat down across from him.

"Late evening, Commodore." The General paused as the Commodore eased himself into his seat. "Everyone sane around here is asleep. Any special reason why you're up this night?" Antilles greeted, entering into a conversation.

Blair sucked in a long breath, and let out an equally long and equally pain-filled sigh. "I just went up and down all day about the Galactic Empire. I had to learn their ship specs, fighter specs, technology, government, history... all that stuff in the packet that's being broadcast all the way to the Border Worlds... you name it and I had to learn it over and over." He rubbed his temples. "What I've heard makes me sick." He sighed again. "I... also have to learn that I'm a staff officer... and not on the flight roster anymore. I know I belong there, but the Brass thinks otherwise."

Wedge smiled. "The Studying the Enemy' part sounds familiar. Before I came here, you see, I crammed my head full of information on the Kilrathi. From what I've been told, they sound like a pretty desperate people."

Blair's face sagged to a degree of sorrow. "They are. We made them that way."

Chris sat up, eyeing Antilles, like he was telling him one of the most important things he had ever told anyone. "Near the end of the war, humanity was down to its last rope. We were losing carriers everyday, and the Kilrathi turned their overall objective from enslaving the human race to pure genocide. In another six months, we would have lost the entire generation-long war. We were the desperate ones...

"Covert Ops was looking for anything that could help us, anything that could be our ace in the hole. We built one, it was called the _Behemoth,_ and like the Imperials' lost Death Stars, it had the capability to destroy entire planets. Basically it was a space-borne cannon."

Wedge looked surprised. "So you took this cannon and pointed it at the Kilrathi? They surrendered and are just now trying to figure out how to evade the nozzle?"

Blair smiled, but disagreed. "No, but that sounds logical. Unfortunately they destroyed it before anything entirely productive could be done with it. Although it did make the Cats' hair stand on end for awhile, I imagine."

"So what happened in the end?"

"In the end, our Special Operations division produced the Temblor Bomb. Literally, it was a bomb that when used could actually seismically tear planets themselves apart. We decided to drop it on Kilrah itself, splitting the capital-based government equally apart and bringing the Kilrathi into disarray. After hacking through impossible odds, my friends and comrades dying at my side... I dropped that damn bomb; I brought an entire race to its knees." Blair stood up, facing the stars through the viewport. "Worse yet, I am a hero for it."

Wedge commented, "You sound sad, and you have a right to be. It's a hard decision to kill billions of people, even if it is in order to save your entire race." He finished the last of his salad, and stood up from his chair and pushed it in. He walked behind Blair, standing to his right and looking along with him to the stars. "The real question is... why are they doing this to you? You said it yourself that they see you as a hero. If anything your Armed Forces should let their heroes have any position they want."

Blair eyed the stars. "It was that way for awhile, in the beginning of the war. The veterans were allowed near the front lines, leading forces and winning battles. Not for long, though, because the veterans would die eventually from the hard defeats that came. Even heroes couldn't win them all. Soon enough, the Confederation was left with newbies and cadets who knew nothing of real battle. From then on, veterans were kept in the home sectors to teach cadets what they knew of battle—real battle."

General Antilles turned and walked away from Blair, and spoke while pacing around, "Where I come from it is very different. They put what we are good at to good use. I am on the edge of retirement, but the Brass is not pushing me off that edge. In fact, they are trying to keep me on. I have always wanted to settle down, raise a family and open a business... Somehow, though, I'm always running after another threat. That threat always seems something that could break apart the still-fragile New Republic. I have been in tons of wide-scale battles: Yavin, Hoth, Gall, Endor, Bakura, and most importantly Coruscant. The Brass knows that they can't afford me to be anywhere else. That's why I'm here."

Blair turned around from the window, acknowledging Wedge, "Seems you and I are on two opposite sides. You want to retire but are pushed to fly, and I want to fly but I am slowly being pushed to retire."

"Whatever it's worth, I for one hope that never happens to you, Commodore. They need you out there... they just don't realize it yet."

Chris and Wedge shook hands in pride, courage, and understanding.

MON CALAMARI STAR CRUISER NRS _DEFIANCE;_ GALLEY  
2110 HOURS (CST)

"Kid, if I said this was like old times I'd be lying. Let's just be real sure we watch our butts out here."

Luke Skywalker put on a grin for his friend, Han Solo, who was ready to leave. "Tell Leia I said hi."

"Yeah, sure, but I'd be lucky to fit into her schedule. Those bluesuits in this Confederation are questioning her for all she's worth." Han sighed, then started for the door. "Take care, Luke." With Han's exit, Luke was left alone to the darkness of the galley. All the sensible people aboard were catching a good night's sleep while they could.

Were it not for his Jedi awareness, his next visitor would have caught him by surprise. "Mind if I sit here?"

Luke turned a glance at Christopher Blair. "Not at all."

"Thanks," Blair said, sitting where Han had a minute ago. "Just checking in personally with your Admiral Ackbar... already spoke to Wedge. Figured I'd stop by."

"I feel like you and I have a lot in common, Chris," Luke said. "Uncanny appearances aside."

Blair ignored that comment, wanting to distance himself from the "Force" business he'd been hearing about since the New Republic flagship's arrival. He was open-minded enough to not dismiss it as "hokey," but it was still a lot to readily subscribe to. "You left a lot behind, didn't you?" he asked.

"My Jedi Academy will make do without me and the New Republic itself doesn't need me as anything other than some kind of figurehead of the new era."

"Really?" Blair's face lit up. "It could be said I have something of the same problem."

"I took out a superweapon that was seconds away from destroying the Rebel Alliance's planetary headquarters. I later became responsible for forging a new order of Jedi Knights even as it was thought I was the last to escape the Emperor and my..." he stopped, choosing his words more carefully, "... and Darth Vader's Jedi Purge."

"I blew up the homeworld of our enemies, the Kilrathi, and ended a three-decade war," Blair spoke in turn. "Then six years ago I stopped a civil war in the Border Worlds. In that last conflict I had to choose sides... I didn't like it one bit. For a while I was considered a traitor."

"My past has a dark side as well... quite literally, in fact. In order to stop the continuing devastation of worlds by the Empire's World Devastator superweapons, I felt I had to join the resurrected Emperor and become as... Darth Vader had to him in the past. In my arrogance I thought I could play the role of Vader to the Emperor and later betray him to the New Republic without succumbing to the Dark Side. I was wrong, but those that cared for me showed me back to the light."

Blair leaned back. "You hesitate every time you mention this Darth Vader guy."

"He was my father."

"Oh." Blair went quiet. Well, he wasn't expecting _that._ "That must have been... something."

Luke let the silence play out for a few passing moments before saying what he had known since he had first seen his mirror image. "You're not like the others, you know."

"How do you mean?"

Luke shook his head, squinting his eyes slightly as if in deep concentration. "Every one of the others in this galaxy... when I feel their presence in the Force I can sense right away they are not Force-sensitive."

"And with me?" _Christ,_ Blair thought, _here comes the part where he tells me I'm some kind of "Jedi."_

"You're different." The Jedi Master sighed. "There is no other way to put it. The Force is with you."

If there was even a molecule of truth to that, he had some reason as to why that might be. "My... my mother was a Pilgrim." Blair paused, knowing Luke wouldn't know what a Pilgrim was. "The Pilgrims... our history records them as a group of colonists with visions of grandeur who provoked the Pilgrim Wars of this century, but they were more than that. They were said to have evolved in space somehow on the early centrifugal space stations... developed some kind of clairvoyance, particularly with navigation. They saw themselves at one with the stars... and some would say they truly were. Charting space... mapping jump points... navigating quasars and pulsars... they did all of this without the aid of a computer." Blair noticeably winced. "As one of their last descendants, I have that in me. Some of it, at least."

"So you do." Luke decided to change the subject, not wanting to press the matter that must be so alien to Blair on him so soon. He'd bide his time, taking things one step at a time as any knowledgeable Jedi Master would. "What was your childhood like?"

"My childhood?" Blair harrumphed. "Well, I was born on Earth then moved to Peron until I was four... and my parents died. I can say I grew up a farmboy, because from age four on until my Academy days I was raised by my uncle and aunt on their farm on Nephele II."

"A farmboy, too, eh? I was born on Tatooine... or at least I think I was. But that was where I grew up... also with my uncle and aunt, both moisture farmers." Luke paused. "You have a wife, Chris?"

"No. Never. Wanted to, once. She was killed." Blair winced away the bad memories. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Luke couldn't stop himself for smiling at the thought of his relationship with the now-Mara Jade Skywalker. At present—which was a relative term, as, if Threepio's theory was to be trusted, they were some five million years in their future—she had taken the _Jade Sabre_ shuttle he had built for her and was on a diplomatic mission on Rhommamool. "To a woman who once swore she would kill me."

"Heh. Quite the life you live, isn't it?"

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, well... sometimes I wonder how I can deal with it all."

"Oh, you don't fool me." It was all over the guy's face. "You live for it, Luke. All these adventures you've had... pretty much having to save this New Republic of yours at least once a year... you can't_ live_ without that kind of excitement." On many levels, Blair could relate.

Luke couldn't hold back his smile. "Might be some truth to that..."

"You're all right, Luke." Blair grinned back, standing. "I'd best be heading back now... check with your Chief of State before I turn in, maybe. Talk later? Have a couple beers, share some war stories, teach me a few Jedi tricks...?"

"Sure. You just leave my sister alone now, you hear?" Luke said, jokingly.

Blair recoiled, acting hurt that he would suggest such a thing. "Hey, relax, Skywalker. I know she's married already!"

Luke chuckled, bidding Blair goodnight with a wave as the Commodore disappeared into the galley turbolift.

F-108A PANTHER 201  
2680.332; 0915 HOURS (CST)

Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley switched to his wing's channel. "Ready, guys?"

"Black Widow Three on your port wing, reporting in," Manley heard the young voice of Stiletto inside his helmet. "Ready for practice run. Weapon energy levels at a minimum."

Hawk checked his HUD and noticed another blue blip come up on his starboard side. "This is Black Widow Two, situation green, weapon energy levels: check." It was Stingray. "Let's taste some blood."

"Black Widow Leader to _Midway._ We are ready for practice strike, repeat we are ready for practice. Tell those boys on the _Defiance_ that we're ready to clip their wings." Hawk confirmed his channel was being sent, and he waited for a reply.

A few moments passed. _Too many moments,_ Hawk thought. The three Panther fighters that made up his entire wing for this practice run cruised lazily in space, thirty thousand clicks off the _Midway_'s stern. A massive blue cloud-like nebula was right on top of their position, emitting a blue luminescence that filled Hawk's cramped cockpit, nearly blinding him. He recalibrated his light intensity gauge, and waited a long while. The _Midway_'s communications signal must be trying to make its way through that mighty blue bastard. "I hate practice runs!" Hawk proclaimed, "Why couldn't we just do this in the simulator?"

Stingray's voice punched into the Colonel's helmet, "Black Widow Leader, I checked out this nebula before now. It shouldn't be doing a thing to our communications. Likely, we are being jammed on the _Midway_'s channel."

Hawk's eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Jammed? What the fuck could be jamming us?"

Black Widow Leader had spoken all to soon, for three X-wings with opening S-foils punched out of the cloudy nebula with full guns blazing. Four low-powered lasers lanced out, cutting into Hawk's shields all before he had time to react.

"The freaking bastards pulled a blind man on us! Break and attack!" Hawk commanded. He kicked his Panther into full thrust, keying in his afterburners. He swung himself around by autosliding, trying to line himself up on the nearest X-wing. He targeted a red-striped one that appeared to be the leader due to its maneuvers and flight formation. _That's probably Wedge..._

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301  
0924 HOURS (CST)

General Wedge Antilles checked his rear HUD, estimating that he was lined up in Hawk's sights. With his assumption, he yawed up on his starboard side, narrowly missing a full salvo of tachyon and ion fire.

The General checked his fore and aft HUDs again, noticing that Commander Horn and Lieutenant Darklighter were on his six. Corran took a few bad hits from Stingray, and it showed by his lack of port shields and armor.

Gavin Darklighter was on Stiletto's tail. Her Panther had taken a massive beating by the blitzkrieg off the nebula, indicated by the harmless scorch marks on her underbelly.

_Good work, kid,_ Wedge thought. It was a shame though that Gavin wasn't a kid anymore, but rather a thirty-five year old veteran fighter jock. Quite different, Wedge realized, from the sixteen year-old he had first seen less than two decades before bent on upholding the Darklighter Fighter Jock name. _How times change, and people along with them._

Wedge had to smile. This was kind of fun.

F-108A PANTHER 201  
0929 HOURS (CST)

Hawk watched Stingray pull off from his battle with Corran sharply and form on his wing. The two double-teamed Wedge, and his fate was sealed. Letting out curses left and right, Antilles tried to evade the two pursuing fighters' fire. The simulated damage to Antilles' starfighter was simply too much, though. He pitched and yawed with futility. In the end his engines lost their red glow, shutting off. Hawk swung down upon his target, pelting it with fire for good measure.

_In a way, he's gloating._

Rogue Three and Rogue Two took their leader's revenge by striking across the starboard sides of Stingray and Hawk.

"Wingman to Wing Leader: Gavin made Stiletto suck vacuum. She's heading back to base."

"Remind me to buy Wedge a drink," Hawk groaned. "That nebula maneuver was so damn old I never expected they would use it. I also hadn't realized they could jam us." Hawk swung his fighter lazily around to line up on the two remaining X-wings. He switched his channel so he could taunt them. "Can anyone say... target practice?" He looked up from his communications panel, and was surprised to see no enemy in front of him. All that was remaining beside Stingray and him was the ominous cloud-like nebula.

F-108A PANTHER 202  
0935 HOURS (CST)

"Don't tell me they're using it again!" Stingray moaned. Following Hawk, he pushed into the cloudy nebula. Belts of mist and empty vacuum floated all around them. Soon they were deep enough in the mist of particles that they lost eighty percent of their sensor data. Stingray could barely read Hawk on his HUD, his IFF blinking on and off.

"What the f... so... shooting at...!" Black Widow Leader's signal was almost static in his headset. "Shie... ds down t... noth..., thi... looks like...!" Hawk's IFF blinked off completely.

"I freaking _hate_ practice runs!" Stingray yelled to himself. Something was out there, definitely. Whether this was all part of the _Midway_'s plan or not, he could barely tell. _Expect the unexpected, they always say._

He powered down his engines to cruising speed, afterburning through the cloudy expanse. Stingray kept one eye on his HUD, and one out in the murky depths of the nebula. Either it was paranoia or his quick eye, because he noticed brief shadows moving around him. The ever-silent nebula surrounded him, the only sounds being the hum of his engines and his own heavy breathing.

With shock, he listened as a voice, Blair's voice, shouted over the enemy's open channel, "Target practice!" He barely had time to react, for what must have been three full salvos of laser fire rained down upon the lone Confederation fighter. All systems showing red, Stingray was out of the game.

_Speak of the devil._ A nearing IFF signal showed up on his MFD scopes, showing it to be an E-wing piloted by none other than...

Than Maverick himself.

Blair swarmed around the beaten Stingray, proud of his stealthy "kill." "Maverick to Stingray: surprised?"

"Definitely not what I expected," a disgruntled voice answered. "I thought Confed clipped your wings when you transferred to Fleet. But that's beside the point! You're in a Republic fighter!"

Blair smiled, looking at his cockpit interface. Every system on the E-wing appeared modular, a great feature when upgrading and repairing entire wings of starfighters. The computer system and controls appeared simple also: shield modulation, throttle, a 3-D HUD... even weapons control was simple. "Admiral Ackbar recommended we learn to use these fighters as well as them using to learn ours, so I elected myself to take one around the block.

"A few upgrades have been issued to all the Republic fighters on the _Defiance_ as well. Afterburners, some of our weaponry and missiles... If we adopt some of each other's technology, I figure it'll bring up us to a technological level a couple hundred years ahead."

Stingray, always the pessimist, answered, "Just remember, Maverick, we got us an Empire we need to beat out there. A Galactic Empire. With all due respect, sir, anything else is second fucking fiddle."

"Can't argue with you there," Blair agreed. "The longer they stand without due justice, the more wide-scale their New Order becomes." He contemplated his own words for a moment. Afterwards, the Commodore pulled out of the nebula, two X-wings and a Panther in formation. "And it's only a matter of time before they make their move."

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
THE KILRAH SYSTEM, KUR'U'KHAG QUADRANT, KILRAH SECTOR  
1035 HOURS (CST)

In his chair to the left of the command chair, Admiral Güthrig watched Grand Moff Jhediah handle the Kilrathi prince on the comm with carefully measured contempt.

"That'll be quite enough, Chancellor Melek," Jhediah said. He clearly thought little of the Kilrathi noble. "You may have signed your Treaty of Torgo and Ko-bar Yagar, but the fact of the matter is that when the chips were down, your Assembly of Clans came apart at the seams. You know this. I know this. Your Murragh knows this."

Melek _nar_ Kiranka's holographic image threw his arms forward in desperation. "Nothing good will come of this, Grand Moff Jhediah. My people have lost enough already—you will be destroying the peace we have managed to establ—"

A slashing motion by Jhediah to the comm officer ended the transmission.

The youth, though concededly bright and ambitious, had little respect for diplomacy. Güthrig had heard of Jhediah's boasts... how he claimed to have learned from the mistakes of the Imperial warlords of yore, that he was the best of all worlds... Güthrig saw him as he was: an arrogant, impatient child. What was worse, he was an arrogant, impatient child in command of the entire remainder of the Imperial Fleet.

Güthrig was too old a man to ever challenge Jhediah's authority, least of all try to wrest him from his place of power. In spite of it all, he was willing to give Jhediah a chance.

"Admiral Güthrig," Jhediah addressed him as he took his command chair, turning it to face him. "There has been word from our General Stele. Best estimates from the Kilrathi shipyards place the completion of the necessary upgrades and new starfighter complements at just a little under one month. What do you think about that?"

"These Kilrathi are dedicated," Güthrig noted. "They just need direction."

Jhediah nodded in agreement. "Direction I am only too happy to give to them."

"Am I to understand that we will be beginning our campaign at the soonest opportunity...?"

"Oh, yes." An hauntingly empty smile played across Jhediah's lips. "The soonest opportunity."

**CONT...**


	4. Chapter III

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter III : Conflagration

**TO : **COMBWSZEPHYR**  
FROM : **COMMILFLT**  
SBJT : **Re: TF TYPHOON**  
DATE :** 2680.357; 1800 HOURS ZULU TIME

Long-range probes, DSSS, recon, and SWACS flights have detected a large force of Kilrathi and Unknown vessels approaching Confed / Union of Border Worlds / Landreich Republic space. Task Force Typhoon is to rendezvous with other UBW forces in the Alcor System. Hostilities are likely.

The UBW Navy Second Fleet and the Free Republic Navy is to delay this invading force to provide Confed with enough time to respond in force. The Kilrathi fleet must be delayed at least two days. Confed homeguard forces from surrounding systems will assist with the intercept. No Confed fleet assistance will be available.

The unknown ships possibly belong to a new faction called the Galactic Empire. As you know, we have been comparing notes with the flagship of the New Republic that entered our space along with this new faction. Be aware that the aforementioned large faction of the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans is clearly acting in an alliance with this Galactic Empire. Observed performance matches Intell provided by Confed. See attached specifications. These ships are to be considered a Class 1 threat.

Craig, I'll be straight with you about this. We're probably looking at another invasion like the one in 2668 with the potential for it to be considerably worse. The Kilrathi are throwing everything they have at us and, frankly, we weren't ready for it. Our probes have detected, aside from these new ships, a dreadnought plus dozens of lighter warships ranging from corvettes to heavy cruisers. There may even be a carrier or two.

I also think you're entitled to know why we're staging our intercept in Alcor, instead of Hellespont. There are three reasons. First, Alcor lies in the shortest path between Kilrah and Earth, and the enemy's most likely route. Secondly, Alcor is a jump point nexus, allowing our forces to move around the sector quickly should the Kilrathi and their Imperial allies choose a different path of attack. Finally, Alcor itself is still uninhabitable from Kilrathi radiation warheads dropped a decade ago, meaning that there are no civilians to worry about. I'll see you at the rendezvous point.

Good luck.

**Admiral Reginald Keith  
Commanding Officer, UBW Second Fleet**

BWS _ZEPHYR,_ FLAGSHIP OF TASK FORCE TYPHOON; BRIDGE  
THE TORGO SYSTEM: JUMP POINT TO LOKI, DENEB QUADRANT, EPSILON SECTOR  
DEC 25 2680/2680.358; 0930 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Craig Jamison smiled grimly as he looked out the huge viewports lining the bridge. The bow of the Ranger II-class BWS _Zephyr_ stretched seven hundred and forty meters ahead of the bridge, glistening with the red markings of the Union of Border Worlds Navy. Just over five kilometers ahead of that was three of the carrier's six escorting Sheffield-class destroyers, and barely visible in the distance were a pair of the eight Caernaven-class patrol frigates flanking the task force. The remaining three destroyers guarded the carrier's stern, with two more frigates beyond them. The last four frigates flanked the carrier, two to each side.

_A formidable force,_ Jamison thought sadly, _but not near enough to stop the inevitable._ Less than an hour ago, recon units near Freya from the recently-promoted Rear Admiral Hanton's Battle Group Valkyrie had detected Kilrathi ships jumping into the system. That was just one jump from Alcor. They confirmed the presence of a Kilrathi Dreadnought before they pulled out. The Admiral shuddered at the thought of facing one of those 22,000-meter monsters. _If the Kilrathi and their allies have upgraded that thing's weapons, shields, and armor..._ Jamison cut that thought off before it could lead to its natural conclusion, _... there's no way we can stop it._

Jamison bit back a curse. He'd always been a bit of a pessimist, but ever since the Black Lance incident, his grimmer thoughts seemed to finish themselves. Especially those he didn't want to finish. He shook off the unpleasant thoughts and turned to the crew pit in the middle of the bridge. "Any word from our patrols?"  
  
"Yessir," the young lieutenant manning the communications station reported. "All patrols are in the landing pattern except for Captain Richthofen's. His flight had a run-in with a few privateers. He says that they wish to join up to help stop the Kilrathi..."

"Hmmm. Very well, they may come aboard, but they must keep their guns off-line, and they have to dump their ordnance," Jamison replied, frowning. _They don't have to know that we can't stop the Kilrathi, not yet at least._ "How many fighters do the privateers have?"

"Eight, sir," the ensign at the sensor board piped. "Four Talons, three Demons, and a Centurion."

"Inform Captain Richthofen that he's authorized to ride his afterburners all the way back. We've got to get a move on."

BANSHEE 401, EN ROUTE TO BWS _ZEPHYR_  
0935 HOURS (CST)

"Roger that, _Zephyr."_ Captain Frederick "Doppler" von Richthofen quickly switched channels to speak with his whole flight. "All right, everyone, 'burners to a thousand and autoslide to conserve fuel." He waited until the three members of his flight acknowledged, then switched channels again and repeated the orders to the civilian ships flying in formation ahead of him.

Two minutes later, they were on final approach to the _Zephyr._ "All right, privateers land first. You're lower on fuel than we are. Talon Flight, stay sharp and watch their ordnance drop." Less than a second later, explosive bolts on the privateer fighters sent their missiles and the Centurion's ordnance load spinning away into the void of space.

"Olympus Lead," the transmission came from the _Zephyr'_s flight control, "You are cleared to land." Everyone held their breath, waiting to see if the civvies would hold to their word. The Centurion slowed and lined itself up with the rear of the carrier. It slowly closed the distance until the _Zephyr'_s tractor beams caught it. The privateer cut his throttle and let the tractor beams haul the 75-meter fighter in. The Centurion's landing gears locked down, and it landed with a light thump on the deck.

Everyone watching released a collective sigh of relief. The rest of the pirate ships landed without incident. Meanwhile, Captain Richthofen marveled over the sheer gall that it had taken to build the _Zephyr._ It amazed him that the fast carrier actually worked, as it was essentially a cut and paste of two old Ranger-class light carriers. It was considered a "Ranger Mark II"-class "medium carrier," though it was to be the only of its kind. The comparatively small Second Fleet of the Border Worlds Navy had the need for a carrier that could get from system to system quickly and have enough firepower to make a significant enough difference.

The _Zephyr_ was the result, and what a result it was. Four hundred thirty-one meters longer than a Ranger-class light carrier—the same class as the infamous TCS _Victory_—she could carry ninety-six fighters and six shuttles. The lower two engine naicels were replaced with triple-engine naicels like the one on the top of the ship. They had then added three more naicels, opposite those in place. A bustard intake and generator section was added to the port and starboard sides between the upper and lower engine naicels. Where the conning tower had been on the forward Ranger hull, a second launching bay now sat, used mostly for utility shuttles and cargo loading. A pair of laser turrets flanked the main landing bay, preventing internal strafing runs that were so lethal to carriers during the Kilrathi War.

Overall, the _Zephyr_ was the deadliest carrier in the Border Worlds, rivaled by only the FRLS _Mjollnir_ in the service of the Free Republic of Landreich Navy and the new UBW Arcadia-class fleet carriers. With eight squadrons of fighters, fourteen laser turrets, shields that rival a Blackmane-class starbase and the speed of a destroyer, there were few ships that could match her. Her only weaknesses being a Yaw/Pitch/Roll of 2/2/1 Degrees Per Second, and less structural integrity amidships, where the two Rangers had been joined together. The later of these was compensated for with huge reinforcements that ran a quarter to three-fifths the length of the ship. The former weakness was a result of stress limits imposed by the latter.

Frederick von Richthofen smiled and concentrated on his approach as his turn to land came up. He was careful as ever to avoid the engine plumes that surrounded the landing approach. He slowed to twenty KPS as he came within a hundred meters of the carrier. He maintained that speed until the ship's tractor beams caught his fighter. Richthofen then cut his throttle and lowered his landing gear. A few seconds later, his Banshee Mark II touched down with a light thump. He sighed and shut down his engines. The towing carts would take over from here.

_"All hands, brace for jump,"_ blared over the loudspeakers as he stepped into the elevator along with the privateers. Richthofen grimaced in preparation for the jumpshock. He wasn't disappointed. The jumpshock was just as disorienting and nauseating as ever. After they all gathered their wits and stomachs, they stepped out of the elevator and headed for their debriefing.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ FLIGHT WING BRIEFING ROOM  
THE LOKI SYSTEM, DOWNING QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR  
EN ROUTE TO ALCOR JUMP POINT  
1150 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Jamison stood before the ship captains and squadron commanders of Task Force Typhoon's flight wing. Looking into their experienced eyes, he knew this wouldn't be easy. He steeled himself before beginning. "I know you're wondering why we've been ordered to Alcor." Jamison waited the dramatic second to let their attention focus. "The Kilrathi, and a new ally, have launched a new offensive. It can be compared to the 2668 invasion after the false treaty, except this time Confed has sufficient ships to repel them. They only have one problem: their forces are spread out over bulk of the Confederation. We on the other hand, do not have sufficient strength to stop this force, but can get most of that strength together quickly to intercept the Kilrathi. Therefore our job, and that of the rest of the Border Worlds Second Fleet, is to delay the Kilrathi attack as long as possible, and as long as possible' has to be at least two days. That's the minimum amount of time Confed will need to prepare their defense.

"Reconnaissance of the Kilrathi fleet has indicated a large, undetermined number of corvettes, five Fralthi II cruisers, a couple Fralthra cruisers, at least three Ralari II heavy destroyers, two Kamekh-class destroyers, approximately a dozen light destroyers, a pair of old Snakeir-class carriers, and a single dreadnought." Jamison paused to let the news to sink in and the murmuring to die down. It was like they were fighting the Kilrathi War all over again, and they all knew it. "While this force is powerful, these are what are going to cause the most trouble." The display changed from the Kilrathi ships to those of the Galactic Empire with a silhouette of an Tallahassee-class cruiser for comparison. There were several gasps as skippers and squadron commanders realized the scale of what they were looking at.

"My God!"

"How could we possibly hope..."

"What is that?!"

Jamison raised his hands for silence. For all the good that would do... "Look, I understand your reactions," he coaxed. "I went through them a couple of days ago myself. But let me tell you, we have the advantage here. Confed has sent complete technical readouts on all of these ships to us. All we have to do is decide how we will attack these things. There's one more thing." He paused as several images came up of tiny fighters bearing solar panels. "These are their fighters, and a fair number of them are completely shieldless." He watched with satisfaction as his people began to relax.

"Any questions before we start?"

"Yes, sir. Rumor has it that the _Midway_ is on the way to Vega, if it isn't here already. Are they going to assist us in delaying the Kilrathi and their allies?" That was Captain Ramous of the destroyer _Winchester._ Jamison suppressed a grimace as the question lit a spark of hope in everyone's eyes; a spark he had to extinguish.

"Unfortunately, no. The _Midway_ was reportedly undermanned and has returned to Earth to complete its fighter wings and Marine complement, and to add to the Confederation's defense. For the past month its been busy personally heading the talks you've probably been hearing about on the TNC with delegates of this New Republic, escorting their flagship Mon Calamari Star Cruiser' and Nebulon-B frigate.'

"Is that everything?" Jamison waited to give the others a chance to ask questions; no one else did. _That's okay,_ he thought, _there'll be plenty of questions when I'm finished._ "Very well, we know how to handle the Kilrathi. We should—we've had over four decades of experience with them. I suggest then, that we start with how to take out this brute here," a picture of a huge arrowhead shaped warship took up the screen. "Confed Intell calls this an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer."

"That's a destroyer? Hate to see their battleships."

"How come? I doubt one could fit through a jump point."

"C'mon, with fighters like those, they _need_ big ships."

"Yeah, well, the bigger they are, the bigger the motherfuckin' blast." That last one was from Lt. Colonel Louis Welch, commander of an Avenger squadron. The room filled with laughter at the fun they were poking at the Star Destroyers, laughter that disguised the fear that all in the briefing room felt. Jamison smiled as morale got back to its usual level and raised his hands again to quiet down the ruckus.

"All right, all right, we've had our fun. Now, let's get down to business..."

BORDER WORLDS FLEET RENDEZVOUS POINT  
THE ALCOR SYSTEM, ROBERTS QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR   
2680.359; 0430 HOURS (CST)

The carriers, frigates, corvettes, and transports of the Border Worlds Combined Fleet sat fifty thousand kilometers from the jump point to Freya, awaiting the return of their fighters and the fleet's destroyers and cruisers. Those ships, on the other hand, were heading back toward their respective task forces at their maximum speeds after laying the largest and thickest minefield in the history of warfare: a little present for their Kilrathi aggressors. All they had to do now was wait.

They didn't have to wait long. One hour and thirty-two minutes later, space twisted with a strange pseudomotion as the warships of the Galactic Empire jumped out of hyperspace... well clear of the mine field. Jumping in along with them were dozens of TIE Defenders, TIE Phantoms, Missile Boats, a few TIE Advanced/Avengers, Star Wings/Assault Gunboats, Vaktoth II heavy fighters, and eight Kilrathi corvettes. A second later, every ship in the Border Worlds Fleet went into action.

"RED ALERT! RED ALERT! ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS! ENEMY SHIPS HAVE ENTERED THE SYSTEM! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

Frederick von Richthofen was out of his bunk and in his flight suit before the alert had finished its first repetition. He dashed into the pilots' ready room and took his seat, struggling with the crowd of pilots trying to do the same thing. Things settled down quickly as they waited for Colonel Fitzgerald to finish his meeting with Vice-Admiral Jamison. A couple of minutes later, the Colonel appeared. "All right, this is the situation." He stood to the side and a map of the system, centered between the Border Worlds and Imperial fleets, appeared. "The Imperial Fleet has jumped into the system, and has taken up position here, thirty kilometers from the jump point. Their fighters and the Cat corvettes are clearing our minefield, no doubt so that the Kilrathi's big ships can jump in. "We were counting on the mine field to slow down the fleet and inflict heavy casualties. Well, this just isn't the case any more. The entire fleet is moving to engage these Imperials before their fighters can clear the mines. As long as that field's there, the Kilrathi are stuck in Freya or have to take another route that will delay them several days. I assume you've all read your briefing packages on these Imperial ships. Well, our first objective will be to hurt or kill these smaller ships..." Pictures of the fleet's two dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers and Victory-class Star Destroyers appeared on the screen. "This ought to chase them away from the jump point. Also, remember to stay away from those Lancer frigates! They are dedicated anti-fighter platforms and will eat you for breakfast.

"Any questions? No? Very well then, get to your ships!" With that, the room cleared quickly. A couple of minutes the hangar and flight decks were swarming with pilots and ground crews.

Captain Frederick von Richthofen stepped up to his crew chief, Daniel Caloway, who handed him his helmet. "She ready, Dan?"

"Ready as she's going to be. Your squadron's ordnance is loaded. Im Recs and a pair of dumbfires all around. What're those dumbfires for anyway?"

"A little surprise for those big ships," Frederick answered with a smirk. Daniel helped him into the Banshee Mk II and ran over the final equipment check with him. He climbed back down and another member of the ground crew held up eight ribbons. Each was attached to an arming pin that had been removed from the missiles on Frederick's fighter. Frederick gave them a thumbs up. Two minutes later, he and the other fighters of the _Zephyr_ lined the flight deck, warming their engines for launch.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ BRIDGE  
0945 HOURS (CST)

On the bridge, Vice-Admiral Craig Jamison waited for their orders.

"Sir!" chimed the comm officer. "Admiral Keith has ordered all ships to launch their fighters and to advance on the Imperial ships."

Jamison looked over at the BWS _Princeton,_ CV-48, a Concordia-class fleet carrier captured during the Black Lance incident that was now serving as Admiral Keith's flagship. He gave the order without looking away from the nine hundred meter-long carrier, "Launch all fighters. Advance in formation, holding our position relative to the fleet."

"Yes, sir!" The ensign started talking into his headset. Jamison wasn't listening though, his thoughts were on the past, and on the young men and women who would soon lose their lives. _I wonder how many it will be today. How many letters will I have to write?_ He knew the answer, and it was far more than he cared to admit to himself.

Idly, Jamison found himself remembering the date. December 25th...

_Merry Christmas..._

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ FLIGHT DECK  
0943 HOURS (CST)

"All fighters are cleared for launch! I repeat, launch all fighters!" came through every headset and loudspeaker on the flight deck. Captain Frederick von Richthofen was jammed back in his flight couch as he pushed his throttle to the stops. His Banshee shot out of the _Zephyr_ and eased into a slow left turn, clearing the carrier's bow.

As his squadron, the VF-14 "Talons," formed up, he took the chance to look out over the Border Worlds' fleet. The main battle line was made up of 12 cruisers, 26 destroyers, 33 frigates, and 41 corvettes that flew in formation. These were arranged around the carriers: seven Durango-class heavy destroyers, six CVE-class escort "jeep" carriers, the _Princeton,_ and the _Zephyr._ Trailing them were thirty-eight transports, which were even now shoving fighters out of open cargo holds. Included in this were half a dozen Pelican-class transports. Those were launching HF-66 Thunderbolt VII and Excalibur class fighters that they had brought from nearby Confed system defense forces.

"This is Talon Lead. All Talons, check in!" Captain Richthofen called out.

"Talon Four, ready to roll," responded 1st Lieutenant Seth "Anubis" Milhalik.

"Talon Five, good to go," came the voice of 1st Lieutenant Stephani "Torch" Kozlowski.

"Talon Three here, Kep-tain!" called his female Firekkan wingman.

"Talon Two, all systems go!" responded the ever-cheerful lieutenant leading his flight's second element. Talon Squadron continued to call in until everyone was accounted for. They then slid into formation with the rest of the _Zephyr'_s squadrons. Leading the formation were the three Banshee Mk II fighter squadrons. Next were the privateers' ships and the carrier's one squadron of F-104 Bearcats. The fighter bombers and torpedo bombers followed them: two squadrons of Vindicators, two of Avengers, and one of the F/A-43 Intruders. All around them, other fighter groups were forming up, preparing to assault the Imperial fleet.

BWS _PRINCETON;_ BRIDGE  
1014 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Reginald Keith watched as the distance between the fleets closed. Soon, it would begin very soon. His attention remained on the holo-plot as an officer informed him that the fleet was almost in range. The Imperial ships started to react to his fleet's approach, and he still stood there, watching the plot. Finally, he heard the report he was waiting for. "Sir! Shadow Flight reports that they are in position."

"Stand by. Do you have the enemy commander?" he asked communications.

"Yes, sir."

"Put him on." Keith waited a moment for the connection. He looked the hologram of a Terran man in an unusual green uniform in the eyes. "I am Admiral Reginald Keith, CINC of the Border Worlds Second Fleet. Your violation of Confederation space is in direct violation of the Treaty of Torgo. Recall your fighters, stand down your ships, and return to Kilrathi space immediately."

"I am Grand Moff Jhediah, speaking on behalf of the Third Imperium of the Galactic Empire... and the assembly of ships you now find yourself facing—some of which you might recognize as your former enemies," the surprisingly youthful-looking man spoke with authority, his face twisting in a tight, cocky smile. "I made our intentions quite clear to our now-allied Kilrathi—now I will make it clear to you. There is to be a New Order in this galaxy, and we are the ones to instill it. In the interest of diplomacy, I will ask you once to stand down... but only once."

"Look, Moff,'" Admiral Keith said, his eyes hardening in determination. "Neither the Cats or the Confees could subjugate us when we were out numbered and out gunned. This time we have the advantage, and now you'll see just how well the Border Worlds can fight."

"Oh, indeed?" The transmission ended, and Admiral Keith turned to his communications officer.

"Inform Shadow Flight that they are cleared to fire." He watched the Border Worlders approached the Imperial fleet of nine Imperial II Star Destroyers, four Victory-class Star Destroyers, two dreadnaught heavy cruisers, an Interdictor, the pair of Lancer frigates, and the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer _Vacillator._ He smiled as a flurry of activity broke out among the TIE Interceptors leading the fleet. Their formations arced back around their gigantic wards toward a new, unexpected threat.

SHADOW FLIGHT  
1027 HOURS (CST)

Shadow Leader acknowledged the permission to fire, then signaled the rest of his squadron. "This is Shadow Leader. Shadow Flight, arm your fission cannons and lock your wings." He paused while he readied his guns. "Arm your torpedoes, decloak, and attack!"

With a metallic howl, the six Dragon/Lance-class heavy space superiority fighters, also captured during the Black Lance incident, decloaked. Their cockpits were filled with the beeping of torpedoes getting a lock on the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer ahead of them, as well as the increasing hum of their charging fission cannons. The capital ship must not have known what a Dragon could do, for it didn't even fire at them. Instead, dozens of fighters arced around the mile long warship, spitting green laser fire.

The Dragons held their course as quad-laser blasts danced across their heavy shields. Shadow Leader fired off a pair of Friend or Foe missiles. Each chose a different target. One was a TIE Interceptor, which disintegrated like so much tin foil as the missile punched through its shields and the shrapnel and shockwave from the missile impacted with the tiny sphere containing its cockpit and engines. The other target was a three-winged TIE Defender. The unbelievably fast and agile craft easily dodged around the missile and destroyed it with a well-placed quad-laser blast.

Shadow Leader whistled in appreciation, but kept his attention on his weapons. He activated his com-system as his fission guns finished charging and his torpedoes locked. A predatory grin lit up his face as he gave the short, deadly command, "Fire!" The six Dragon pilots released their triggers simultaneously, sending six pairs of crackling orbs of energy toward the Star Destroyer. A split second later, they depressed their missile triggers, launching a dozen torpedoes toward the rear of the massive ship, as well as pairs of Pilum missiles to quell the harassing TIEs.

The Fission blasts slammed into the Star Destroyers rear shields with enough power to destroy a fleet carrier. The lightning danced across the flickering shields as they failed. A split-second later, twelve torpedoes slammed into the Star Destroyer's engines. The blue explosion glowed brighter than the sun as it swept forward over and through the ship. The engines were vaporized instantly, and the fireball gutted the ship, following the huge drive shafts to the ships' fuel supply and huge Solar Ionization Reactor. They detonated like a huge fusion bomb, consuming the ship in moments. When the glow died down, there wasn't a piece left larger than a breadbox.

The six Dragons tried to cloak and escape the torment of the enraged TIEs. Five of the powerful ships made it, with varying degrees of damage. The one casualty, Shadow Leader, died just after the torpedoes hit the Imperial Star Destroyer. The TIE Defender he had fired at and a Missile Boat had each launched a pair of Advanced Proton Torpedoes into his Dragon's rear quarter, followed up with laser-fire. His engines and Matter/Anti-matter reactor exploded before he even felt the impact.

Bridge crews and fighter pilots cried out in victory as the huge ISD disintegrated. The sneak attack proved to the Border Worlders that the Imperials and their huge fearsome ships weren't invulnerable. Frederick looked out across the fighter formations. All around him, fighters flew in "V" formations, reminding him of footage he'd seen of World War Two bombers. He smiled as the order to attack the lighter ships came over the radio.

"All right, you all heard the orders. Target that VSD to starboard and blast its shield generators." He banked his fighter to starboard and rammed his throttle all the way to the firewall. The eleven other Banshees of Talon Squadron followed him. They reached the picket fighters seconds later. The Talons fired their lasers randomly at the wall of TIE Interceptors passing by.

"God, this is crazy! I haven't seen this many fighters since the Battle of Terra!" Frederick didn't take the time to note which pilot had broken radio protocol, as he was too busy jinking and dodging past Interceptors, avoiding a potentially fatal collision.

The same was occurring across the offensive. Hits from the heavy guns sported buy Avengers, Vindicators, and the Confed heavy fighters were killing Interceptors, but with little overall effect. For every Interceptor they killed, there were a dozen more getting through their formations, and heading straight for their capital ships. The Confed Arrows and Excaliburs turned back to help defend the capships, as did the Bearcats and many Banshee squadrons. In the confusion, no one noticed that the Missile Boats and Assault Gunboats that had been clearing the minefield were heading back to the fleet, or the two squadrons of small TIE Bombers circumventing the main fighter battle.

Richthofen flinched as a turbolaser caught his wingman head-on. When he looked back, all that was left was an expanding cloud of vaporized metal, tinted green from refracted turbolaser energy. He felt the blood run out of his face. There was no debris, just that cloud.

_My God! What are we up against? Even anti-matter guns leave _some_ debris!_

The twelve Banshees, sporting nose art of an eagle's talons ready to strike, rolled out of formation and ignited their afterburners. They closed on the Victory SD within seconds.

He tried to stay calm as he gave his next orders, "Switch to dumbfires and fire on my mark." Richthofen waited until their range closed to a thousand meters, "Mark! Fire! _Fire!"_ The squadron let loose twenty-two of the most powerful missile that could be mounted on a fighter short of a torpedo. The heavy rockets slammed into the Star Destroyer's powerful shields, producing a blast nearly as strong as the one that had destroyed the Imperial Star Destroyer. The huge ship's shields crackled and sparked as they collapsed. Talon Squadron pressed its attack home. "Use lasers and missiles to take out those shield towers! If we can't take their shields down for good, out cap ships are dead!" With that, he began pouring fire into the 900 meter-long ship's port shield dome, quickly destroying it.

_Maybe we have a chance after all,_ he thought.

BWS _PRINCETON;_ BRIDGE  
1050 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Keith instinctively ducked as a trio of Interceptors finished a strafing run on the _Princeton'_s bridge. He stood up and called out, "Status report!"

The lieutenant commander at tactical called out, "Shields are holding. No damage reported. All systems functional."

"All ships in Taskforce Magnum, target the Victory Star Destroyer dead ahead and open fire." Admiral Keith grinned as the four heavy cruisers, six destroyers, and six frigates of his personal taskforce advanced on the Star Destroyer. For an instant, the bright blue flickering of the Star Destroyer's shields failing illuminated everything. He turned to his sensor operator, "What was that?"

"A Banshee squadron took down their shields with a load of dumbfires."

"Sir, we're within range!"

"All ships, fire!" With that, Taskforce Magnum fired every weapon it could bring to bear. Red laser bolts danced across the arrowhead shaped battleship, and bright yellow antimatter bolts tore huge chunks from the hull. They worked their way across the hull to the command tower, blowing it into so much junk. Without the bridge and central computer to direct fire, the once concentrated streams of turbolaser fire and concussion missiles battering the cruisers wavered and started missing their targets. Talon and Zero Squadrons added to the damage with their leech cannons, rendering the Victory Star Destroyer's weapons, sensors, engines, and other systems inoperative. Within a couple of minutes, all that was left of the massive warship was a burning hulk, floating aimlessly in space. As internal explosions wracked the hulk, escape pods began jettisoning, ferrying those few survivors to relative safety.

The bombs exploded with the force of twenty dumbfire missiles. The blast penetrated the shields as if they weren't even there, eating into the armor and destroying the upper sensor and communications array. The shock of the blast knocked nearly everyone of their feet or out of their seats. Momentarily without a helmsman, the carrier drifted into a shallow dive. The break in communications left the individual fleet elements on their own while everyone returned to their stations. Before Admiral Keith could demand a damage report, the second bomber squadron received their signal to attack. With no one at the sensor board, the bridge crew remained unaware of the impending doom, and the bombers released their deadly load of heavy proton bombs.

The _Princeton'_s shields were still down, and its armor was gone. The bombs slammed into the unprotected hull like the scythe of Death itself. The blast ripped through the hull like tinfoil, punching its way into the flight and hangar decks, where it ignited waiting ordnance and fuel lines. The explosions gutted the ship and breached the fuel tanks and ammo magazines. The resulting blast tore the command superstructure from its mounting and disintegrated the hull and remaining armor, blowing them across space like chaff in the wind. On the bridge, they never knew what hit them. Admiral Keith was still shielding his eyes from the flash of the first attack, when a second flash from the bombs blinded him, and the darkness embraced him.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ BRIDGE  
1054 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Jamison watched in horrified disbelief as the _Princeton_ disintegrated. Admiral Keith, a friend for many years, and thousands of souls with him, had just been snuffed out of existence. He heard gasps of grief and shock from the rest of the bridge crew. Many people had just lost friends and family on that ship. He turned around quickly. "Communications! Which remaining ship has the best command and control?"

"We do, sir," the comm officer answered shakily.

"Very well. Inform the rest of the fleet that I am taking command of the armada. Also get me the taskforce commanders, were going to reform and hit that Imperial fleet as hard as we can. Call back everything not carrying torpedoes to defend out ships." Jamison shifted his gaze to his sensor officer. "Keep your eyes on that jump point. The Kilrathi may try to come through any minute."

The fleet took only two minutes to re-form their lines and press their attack. The Imperial ships fell back to the jump point, out numbered by the Border Worlds' fleet and taking damage, but they dealt it back out too. The Missile Boats, Assault Gunboats, and TIE Bombers kept the Border Worlds' bombers in check while the Interceptors and Defenders fought the Banshees and Confederation Homeguard fighters.

It was obvious that the Imperial forces weren't prepared for the shear ferocity of the Border Worlders response. They attacked with a suicidal frenzy, every ship focusing its fire on one target until it was destroyed, ignoring the fire tearing at their own hulls. The UBW corvettes dived across the surface of the _Vacillator,_ firing guns, missiles and torpedoes, even though it only took three or four heavy turbolaser hits to destroy them. Several corvettes near destruction dived into the Super Star Destroyer's shields, using their deaths to weaken their incredible foe. While the Star Destroyers pummeled the Border Worlds frigates that were making desperate torpedo runs on their ships, the Achilles-class heavy cruisers poured anti-matter fire into their shields.

BANSHEE 401  
1056 HOURS (CST)

While the fleet formed up and struck at the Imperials, Captain Frederick von Richthofen grimaced at the damage being wrought by the powerful Imperial ships and their tiny fighters. "Talon Squadron, arm Im Recs and fire at will!" A dozen missiles lanced out from the twelve Banshees, nine finding their marks and destroying six Interceptors and three gunboats. Again, the Defenders proved far too maneuverable for the other three missiles.

"All squadrons, break and attack!"

Richthofen grinned wolfishly as the order for general combat came through. "All right everyone, split into your flights and follow me towards that nearest Imperial Triad Squadron!" Triad was the name that the Border Worlds pilots had dubbed the TIE Defender and TIE Phantoms, due to two crafts' three-wing assembly. "Watch out for those TIE Interceptors—I'm reading shields on them—and stay with your wingman. Tally-ho!"

The eleven Banshees, sporting nose art of Eagle's talons ready to strike, rolled out of formation and ignited their afterburners. They closed on the Imperials within seconds. "Arm Im Recs and fire on my mark." Richthofen waited until their range closed to a thousand meters, "Mark! Fire! Fire!" The squadron let loose eleven of the most powerful air-to-air guided missiles that could be mounted on a fighter. Only two Defenders and one Phantom were quick enough to avoid the point-blank-range attack. The others' hulls were crushed like aluminum cans as the blasts punched through their shields. Talon Squadron pressed their attack home. A flight of four fighters chased each Defender and the Phantom, while the last three watched their backs.

Richthofen lined up his shot and fired his quad lasers, taking down the last of the Defender's shields, which boosted back up to one quarter power before his next shot hit, taking them back down. They must have some way to shunt extra energy to their shields, Richthofen thought, probably from their weapons' charge. The Defender tried to veer away, but was hemmed in by fire from the rest of the flight. He fired again and the Defender shattered; the three broken solar panels span away from the central fireball. The lone Phantom was then easily dispatched in a barrage of his Banshee's full-guns.

For a few seconds, there were no enemy fighters near enough to engage. A bright green flash to Richthofen's right caught his attention. He turned to look and saw a single Achilles-class heavy cruiser attacking a pair of Imperial II Star Destroyers head-on. The cruiser's shields flared under the battering of ion cannon and heavy turbolasers. After a few seconds, as its shields failed, it veered hard to port, aiming its bow at one of the Star Destroyers, throwing of its fire for a second. The cruiser fired a spread of six torpedoes at the Imperial ship. They passed through the shields and punched a line of fusion explosions down the port of the starcruiser. When the fireballs cleared, a huge section of the Star Destroyer was gone, and the internal structure still glowed from the heat of the nuclear fire that had savaged it.

The cruiser paid the price for its small victory, though. As the torpedoes raced off, the Imperial II Star Destroyer to starboard found its mark on the cruiser's unshielded side. Over three klicks away, Richthofen could still see the lightning crackles of ion hits and bright green puffs of laser-illuminated vaporized armor and escaping atmosphere. Within seconds, the Imperial Star Destroyer sheared the cruiser in half. The two halves, each only about a third of the ship's original length, floated off, no sign of life showing.

The fighter battle quickly became a free for all; the Border Worlds holding a slight, but ever widening advantage as the Imperial fighters died and ships were damaged. The Border Worlds' pilots, upon discovering that their shields were more powerful, were employing ramming tactics against the Imperials that were too maneuverable to shoot, and focused much of their effort into breaking up the Imperial formations, rendering them more vulnerable.

Soon, every ship in the system, Border Worlds and Imperial were trading shots. In the confusion, the Border Worlders failed to notice a single Kilrathi Vaktoth II heavy fighter jump out to the Freya System. Shortly thereafter, the Imperials pulled away from the jump point, leaving it to the Border Worlders. Within a couple of hours, the Border Worlds' fleet took up defensive positions near the jump point minefield, while the Imperial fleet sat well out of range.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ HANGAR DECK  
1400 HOURS (CST)

The deck was thick with fighters, and many of them didn't belong to the _Zephyr._ Every squadron had taken casualties to the Imperials' small fast TIE craft, or to the Star Destroyers' turbolaser and ion batteries. Most of the fighters littering the deck had varying degrees of damage. Armor was pockmarked with holes and weapons were slagged. Of Frederick's own squadron, there were ten pilots left, including himself. The other squadrons of the _Zephyr_ suffered similar numbers of casualties. There were only three privateer fighters left: two Talons and the Centurion. Now the hangars were filled with Excaliburs, Thunderbolts, Morningstars, Broadswords, and Arrows dating back to the Kilrathi War.

Morale was at an all-time low. Intell had really screwed up this time. Those Interceptors were suppose to be shieldless, yet they had shields at least as strong as a Razor's and sported afterburners, another thing Intell had guaranteed they did not have. There had been no mention at all about those three-solar-paneled craft, which made an Interceptor look like a paper airplane, nor was there mention of those missile boats. They had nearly slaughtered the torpedo bombers while the Defenders and Phantoms kept the other fighters busy. Space was filled with stars, each one of them an exploding craft. Among those was the occasional supernova.

Among the capital ships, the corvettes had taken the heaviest casualties. Fifteen of the craft remained, out of forty-eight. Two cruisers had been destroyed outright, while four others would never see combat again and survive. They had also lost nine destroyers, the _Princeton,_ a CVE-class escort carrier, and three transports. For all this blood, they had bought the destruction of two Victory Star Destroyers, one Imperial II, a Lancer and a Katana-class dreadnaught, as well as scoring hits on the other Imperial vessels, including the Super Star Destroyer _Vacillator._

The next seventeen hours were spent watching the jump point, skirmishing with Imperial fighters, and repairing damage. While the Border Worlds had enough fighters and capships to badly cripple the Imperials, their own losses would prevent them from even slowing the Kilrathi when they finally decided to show up. Around 1900 hours that night, a single Defender jumped into the system and, while afterburning toward the Imperial fleet and evading interceptors, sent a burst transmission. The only bright spot was the discovery of Admiral Keith and most of the _Princeton_ bridge crew alive in the wreckage of the _Princeton'_s command superstructure by a rescue shuttle.

JUMP POINT TO FREYA  
2680.360; 0720 HOURS (CST)

All that was visible at the jump point was a slight blue shimmer and thousands of mines. Suddenly, a blinding light formed as the jump point twisted open and a single Kilrathi light destroyer exited the jump point. Space spiraled shut as the warship settled in, colliding with several mines that knocked its shields down and ate away at its armor and hull as it slowed to a stop. It sat there for a second, and then it was engulfed by over a million-megaton anti-matter explosion. The flames vaporized every mine within ten kilometers, and the shockwave shattered and detonated mines for another fifteen kilometers. The minefield was effectively cleared, and a minute later, the jump point opened again. This time, it disgorged one of the most powerful ships humanity had ever faced.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ BRIDGE  
0723 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Jamison rushed to the bridge as the alarm claxons sounded. Normally, he heeded the unspoken rule that senior officers never ran during a crisis situation, no matter how bad, but this was different. This time they had a Kilrathi dreadnought bearing down on the fleet from behind, with more ships jumping through, and Imperials advancing from the front.

He reached the bridge nearly out of breath. "Status... report," he called out between breaths.

"We've got most of our fighters out already. All of our Avengers, Vindicators, and adopted T-Bolts have been given full dumbfire loadouts like you ordered. Our superiority fighters are armed with Friend or Foe missiles so we can take on those TIE fighters without waiting for locks. All battle damage has been repaired and we are ready for battle."

Jamison smiled at his first officer in thanks. "Has the Admiral given any specific orders?"

"Yes, sir. He said, and I quote, Get the hell out from between those fleets!'"

Jamison nodded. "Well, we had better get to it then. Helm!"

"Right on it, sir!" Everyone braced themselves as the carrier swung sharply to starboard.

BANSHEE 403  
2680.361; 0738 HOURS (CST)

Captain Richthofen jinked his fighter to port, releasing a pair of decoys. The Advanced Proton Torpedo tracking him veered off and struck the second decoy. He was getting sick of these little missiles. Suddenly there was a cry for help from one of his wingmen. He veered toward the source, spotting a Banshee tailed by a TIE Defender. He grinned ferally and afterburned after the pair. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size!" he called out over the Imperial frequency and sent several bolts of coherent light into the craft's shields.

It broke off and quickly glued itself to his tail. "You were saying?" the Imperial pilot gloated.

Frederick engaged his afterburners and activated his fighter's autoslide. "I said Go find another tin can like yours to shoot at.'" With that, he slammed his foot down on the ships left rudder pedal, swinging it around in just over a second. The Imperial pilot, thinking Frederick was turning, had started to turn to follow, and was still straightening back up from the feint when Richthofen fired a pulse from his lasers followed by a FF missile. The missile punched through the fighter's weakened shields, sending the Defender's three crumpled solar panels spinning away from the central explosion. "Listen next time," he said as he shut off his autoslide and shot off in the opposite direction of travel.

He took the opportunity to glance at the Kilrathi ships coming through the jump point. Sure enough there were at least thirty corvettes, seven heavy cruisers, four heavy destroyers, two Kamekhs, and ten light destroyers. Jumping in was the first of the old Snakeir-class carriers. They were old effective ships, but could only carry forty fighters. The first one finished and the second one jumped in. _Well, that should be it._ Then the jump point opened again, once all of the other ship had cleared it. _What the...?_ Frederick's heart caught in his throat. "My God! It can't be... There... there aren't any more_ left!"_ He veered away from the new 1,580 meter vessel finishing its jump. "Control! _Zephyr!_ There's a... a..." he coughed to stop his stuttering.

"This is the _Zephyr._ What is it, Talon Lead?"

"A Hakaga! They've got a bloody damned Hakaga!" Frederick felt a lump in the pit of his stomach at the following silence. _"Zephyr,_ are you still there? Copy. What's wrong?" He inhaled sharply as the orange dots on his HUD indicating the dreadnought and Hakaga were blotted out by red dots. _"Zephyr!_ Answer me, damn it!"

"New orders," a new but vaguely familiar voice said tersely. "Cover the bombers on attack runs against the Kilrathi cruisers and destroyers."

"Who is this?" Frederick asked.

"Admiral Reginald Keith, Commander of the Border Worlds Second Fleet," the voice said. "And you are...?"

"Captain Frederick von Richthofen, Talon Squadron, BWS _Zephyr,"_ he replied, somewhat mollified. "I thought you were dead..."

"Me, too. Lucky for my bridge crew and I that the superstructure wasn't, ah, connected right. Let's hope this refit holds together better than the last one."

The next few minutes were a blur of fury as the Border Worlds ships converged on the Kilrathi line, leaving the Imperials in their wake. Their capital ships engaged the dreadnought while the bombers hit the Kilrathi cruisers. The dumbfires fired in such quantities were more than enough to destroy one of the Fralthi II cruisers and three of the four heavy destroyers. They managed to take out three more light destroyers before they ran out of dumbfires and torpedoes. The whole time, hundreds upon hundreds of TIE Robotic craft launched from the Hakaga, dreadnought, and Snakeirs. Their shear numbers made up for any deficiencies in programming or shielding as they swamped the now badly outnumbered Border Worlds' fighters. Space was filled with stars, each one of them an exploding craft. Among those was the occasional supernova.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ BRIDGE  
0831 HOURS (CST)

The deck shuddered as another wave of proton torpedoes tore across the shields. There were only a couple of missile boats still attacking the _Zephyr._ Since she possessed the heaviest anti-fighter armament, most other fighters were giving her a wide berth. They had easier targets to kill.

For a moment the rapid red pulsing on the bridge, caused by the blazing laser blasts constantly firing, was replaced by a blinding flash. "Report!" Jamison called out.

"That was the _Winchester,_ sir. She's gone," Ensign Ramirez replied sadly. Everyone had friends on these ships, and a whole lot of them had just died. The _Zephyr'_s escorts were sticking tightly by her side, not giving any open window of attack. Now they were paying the price. "The good news is that we've cleared the two fleets," Ramirez said, looking to the Admiral for encouragement, or perhaps just hope.

Unfortunately, there was little hope to be found. The Imperials and Kilrathi, having passed the Border Worlds' fleet, continued their course toward the Vega System jump point. The Border Worlds needed to delay the Kilrathi by two days, but had held them for less than one. Confed wouldn't have the time it needed to prepare to defend themselves and everyone knew it. Many personnel on the bridge hung their heads down in defeat, while pilots tried desperately to defend the ships from the Imperial fighters that continued to harass them, forcing the Border Worlds' ships to retreat to the Loki jump point.

BANSHEE 401  
LOKI JUMP POINT  
0850 HOURS (CST)

The Imperial and Kilrathi fighters had finally returned to their ships, content to let the Border Worlders limp away. They had beaten them, and would let them worry over their inevitable doom. The Kilrathi at least would be back after their victory over Confed, and they would crush the Border Worlds. More so, they would eradicate the Landreich, the unconquerable thorn in the Kilrathi's side for so many years, if they hadn't already.

The fate of all humanity had rested on their effort here, and they had failed.

As the first cruiser disappeared into the jump point, Captain Frederick von Richthofen had an idea: a plan for one last desperate try to slow the Kilrathi/Imperial advance. He smiled as he activated his squadron's frequency. "Ordnance check. Does everyone still have their pair of Dumbfires?" He waited until he had everyone's affirmatives. Good, he thought, it just might be enough. He switched channels to talk to the _Zephyr._ "Admiral, this is Captain Richthofen, I've got an idea..."

A minute later, the ten members of Talon Squadron were afterburning toward the enemy fleet. A quartet of picket fighters attacked, but the TIE/Droids were quickly picked off by concentrated laser fire. The Talons closed on the rear of the dreadnought, with their dumbfires armed and leech guns charged. As they approached, they started dodging antimatter blasts and laser fire coming from the dreadnought and its escorts. Richthofen was wearing a feral grin that would make a Kilrathi's fur stand on end as they closed to 3,000 meters. The aft end of the dreadnought loomed over them like a mountain, and seemed just as immovable. He didn't pause to savor the moment or to feel the dread welling up inside him, as any hesitation can get you killed. The command was short and terse, "Fire missiles."

Two waves of twelve dumbfires leapt across the distance in just less than three seconds. The first wave slammed into the dreadnought's aft shields and overloaded them with a deafening boom heard throughout the ship. The second wave passed through the spot where the shields had been and struck the great warship's engines, immolating a third of them instantly and damaging the entire engineering section. Richthofen then gave the second order, "Fire leech cannon."

The strange pink energy beams lashed out from the ten ships and danced across the dreadnought's remaining engines, overloading their systems. The Talons had everything but their engine power shunted into their guns' recharge, and they fired until their capacitors were dry, until the huge engines' glow died and the behemoth floated dead in space. They fired until they detected the incoming enemy fighters, and then they fled. The dreadnought slowly fell out of formation; it's bustard intakes flickering out with electrical damage.

"Woo-_hoo!_ Let's get outta here, Talons!" Richthofen shouted as he pulled out of his attack. The other Talons followed, all at full afterburners. As soon as they cleared the enemy fleet, they locked their autoslide and cut their afterburners. The Talons turned to face any pursuers, but they had too much of a head start for anyone to catch up. Everyone, save a single Missile Boat with an unusual paint scheme.

Talon Six died quickly, and probably never even knew what hit him. It was two pairs of Advanced Proton Torpedoes fired by the Missile Boat. Richthofen ordered the Talons to return to the fleet while he kept the 'Boat busy. There were a couple of protests, but other fighters were on their way. If they all stayed, then they all would die. Richthofen snapped out of autoslide as his squadron flew off.

"Okay, buddy, it's just you and me," he called, tapping into the Imperial frequency. "Come get some!"

He pulled his Banshee into a tight turn to place the 'Boat in front of him, but it had done the same, and he caught an advanced concussion missile in his forward shields for his effort. He glanced behind him and the 'Boat was on his tail, firing controlled bursts from its single laser cannon. He smiled despite the worry. This pilot was obviously an Ace, and a conservative one at that, having given no taunts while he had the advantage. Despite this, and the flight performance of the 'Boat, Richthofen had the advantage in hardware. He had more guns, more shields, armor,—from what he could tell, no Imperial fighters had armor aside from their hull—he had decoys, and it took four seconds for the 'Boat's missiles to lock.

The whirling chase continued for about twenty seconds, Richthofen couldn't out turn the 'Boat, and the 'Boat couldn't get a missile lock or gun him down. The Imperial backup was almost in range, so he had to act fast. Richthofen leveled off, and dropped a few decoys to shake the boat while he activated autoslide. He faced the 'Boat and fired his last Pilum Friend or Foe missile just as the 'Boat fired a pair of Advanced Proton Torpedoes. All three missiles hit simultaneously. The FF punched through the Missile Boat's shields and damaged its shields, weapons systems, flight control, and several other minor systems. The proton torpedoes knocked Richthofen's shields down, damaged his lasers beyond repair, and knocked out his ITTS. He pulled out of the light spin the impact knocked him into and aimed straight at the spinning fighter. He pulled the trigger.

Frederick was surprised to see a duel stream of pink beams tag the Missile Boat. His targeting system indicated the 'Boat had lost all power. He checked his weapons and was irritated to find what he already knew: his missiles were exhausted and only his leech guns remained. He checked the range to the enemy fighters, saluted the Missile Boat pilot, and ran for home.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ FLIGHT WING BRIEFING ROOM  
THE LOKI SYSTEM, DOWNING QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR  
EN ROUTE TO BLACKMANE JUMP POINT  
1500 HOURS (CST)

The newly field-promoted Major Frederick von Richthofen sat with the other squadron commanders on the left side of the briefing room. The commanding officers of the remaining ships of the Union of Border Worlds Navy sat to their right. Everyone was smiling. They had done it, and Confed would have more than enough time to prepare their defense. They all came to attention as Admiral Reginald Keith and Vice-Admiral Craig Jamison walked in.

Admiral Keith, who was now walking with a cane, smiled as he came up to the small podium. "As you were." Everyone returned to their seats. "I believe you all know of our narrow success in delaying the Kilrathi/Imperial invasion, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Talon Squadron. But succeed we did, and we have given Confed more than enough time to prepare for the inevitable. From what we have been able to determine by studying gun camera footage and sensor readings, it should take at least four days to a week to get the dreadnought's engines running again. It will also have lost thirty percent of its speed, further delaying the enemy.

"This gives us another opportunity. We have enough of a head start to beat the enemy to Earth and join up with Confed, and that is exactly what we're going to do. We'll continue making repairs en route." The large briefing screen behind him lit up with a jump course map. "We will travel through the Blackmane System to Proxima. From there it's just two short jumps to Sol and Earth. We will meet up with the Gemini Sector forces in Proxima before we jump to Sirius, where we'll hold the fort until we're told to do otherwise. It isn't over yet, but between Confed and us you can be damn sure it'll be soon. Any questions, before you return to your ships?"

The skipper of the _Littenia_ raised his hand. "What kind of forces is Confed bringing to bear for defense?"

Admiral Keith smiled. "Well, I'm happy to say that Confed will have most of its new Plunkett-class artillery cruisers and Murphy-class destroyers there, the _Midway, _possibly the _St. Helens,_ the _McKinley,_ and anything they can pull out of mothballs." Keith looked across his commanders. "Any more questions?" He waited a few seconds more, then concluded the meeting with status reports for each ship. At Sirius, the Border Worlds would bring to bear nine cruisers, five destroyers, four Durango-class heavy destroyers, twelve frigates, ten corvettes, five CVE-class jeep carriers, the _Zephyr,_ thirty-four transports, and one Arcadia-class fleet carrier. They slowly made their way toward the jump point to the Blackmane System and the starbase there, where they would replenish their fighter squadrons from its garrison and take on supplies, parts, and technicians for the battle to come.

No, it wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

**CONT...**


	5. Chapter IV

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter IV : Abdication

F-106A PIRANHA 305  
THE DAKOTA SYSTEM, ROBERTS QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR  
D-5 ASTEROID BELT, ULYSSES CORRIDOR, 9 HOURS FROM CHARYBDIS QUASAR JUMP POINT  
DEC 29 2680/2680.362; 0405 HOURS (CST)

Hazard near," came the soft, feminine voice of the AI of Jolene's Piranha recon fighter, jarring Jolene from her slumber. "Nav 5 not reached. Autopilot disengaged."

Jolene rubbed her eyes, groggily stretching herself out what little she could in the cramped cockpit. A glance out the cockpit revealed the D-5 Asteroid Belt and a glance at her on board clock revealed that she had made good time. "Home sweet home, here I come." After checking to make sure her instruments all read in the green she keyed up her wingman on her headset. "You up over there, handsome?"

After a pause a disgruntled Riley answered, "Yeah, yeah."

"That was some patrol, wasn't it?"

"Patrol? Sleep detail is more like it."

They were coming up on Asteroid D-344R now, less than three thousand klicks away. The large asteroid was tilted on its side, the station it concealed, New Pegasus Naval Base, quickly becoming visible. As she flew on, Jolene lined the drydock of the station up in her crosshairs, pondering in spite of herself what the consequences would be were the station to be destroyed.

New Pegasus Naval Base was not only the secondary HQ of Vega Fleet Operations and HQ of the Fourth Fleet, it was all that had stood between the Kilrathi and Earth during the Kilrathi War. In early 2654 it had been destroyed almost entirely, though since its restoration it hadn't seen another serious scuffle, not even during the Black Lance affair.

Jolene's found her eyes wandering to the swirling blues and reds of the Charybdis Quasar. She looked past the whirlpool of gases and past the invisible black hole lying at the quasar's core. One's gaze could almost fall to rest on the gentle blue orb bathed in a soft glow that was Earth. The Sol System... but a single jump away from the edge of the Vega Sector via the Charybdis Quasar, a veritable wormhole in itself.

Jolene pulled her Piranha closer to Riley's, tightening their slackened formation as they continued heading home. After avoiding one of the smaller asteroids in the belt, she brought up the comm again. "First Lieutenants Jolene and Riley, returning from patrol requesting landing clearance."

"Welcome back, you two lovebirds," came the voice of Comm Officer Robert Gemma. "You're cleared to land in Bay Seven."

Jolene leaned back, about to let New Pegasus' ALS take over her fighter's controls.

"What do you want to do when we get back on the station, hon?"

Jolene groaned. "After the morning paperwork? Well, a sonic shower is sounding real nice about now."

"That an invitation?"

"You know it, babe."

"Hold on a second, lieutenants!" It was Radar Officer Rita Sherryl. "We're picking up some kind of proximity feedback on long range sensors... it almost looks like something is—"

She saw it on her HUD first—eleven hostile capships directly off her aft. Breaking right, she witnessed the horror in all of its glory with her own eyes, all of them exiting some kind of hyperspace travel.

"Oh god... it's them."

Them. The Galactic Empire/Kilrathi alliance. Jolene had read the reports herself. The skirmish in the Alcor System the day before had left the Union of Border Worlds Second Fleet in near ruin, with only comparatively minor losses inflicted on the Imperial/Kilrathi side before they reportedly headed for Vega System.

"We're scrambling all available fighters. Just stay... stay frosty out there."

Damn Confed Intell... damn the TCIS... Special Operations... Telemetry from the Border Worlds put the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet, hyperdrive or no hyperdrive, within the reaches of Sirius System at the edge of Sol Sector... not the outskirts of Vega.

"Damn them... they're after Charybdis."

Pulling into a roll, Jolene had her first good look at the oncoming fleet. Two capships in Echelon Right formation were evidently spearheading the fleet, now at less than four thousand klicks and closing fast. The first of the behemoths was a Kilrathi Hakaga supercarrier—the same one that passed through the Border Worlds, unless they had another one—and what Intell reports called an Executor-class Imperial Super Star Destroyer.

Taking the time to scan her profiles on all targets, she identified the rest of the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet. Three Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, a single Victory Star Destroyer and Katana-class dreadnaught, two Fralthi II cruisers, two Fralthra cruisers, two Kamekh-class destroyers, one Ralari II heavy destroyer, and two old Snakeir-class carriers.

The Hakaga alone would have been enough to make the jump through Charybdis and devastate Earth. The terrible cost of the Battle of Terra proved that.

"Riley..."

"Yeah," Riley replied, solemnly, silently sharing the grim knowledge of the inevitable that awaited. "I know."

"You ready?"

"Let's do this."

While the klicks separating Jolene and Riley's fighters from the advancing fleet of capships dropped to two thousand klicks, Jolene's thoughts were of her family, her two daughters waiting for her on Leto.

When the first of the hundreds of turbolaser, ion, and flak cannon batteries trained on the two fighters opened up, Jolene was on afterburners and full-guns.

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _VACILLATOR__;_ BRIDGE  
EN ROUTE TO CHARYBDIS QUASAR JUMP POINT; ETA 8.9 HOURS  
0435 HOURS (CST)

Fear, terror, strength. These words described the massive fleet that was heading across the Ulysses Corridor on Sublight and Impulse Drive to the quasar that would take them directly to the heart of the Terran Confederation, Earth. To the Imperials, the fall of Earth—the jewel of the Confederation—would be the first true step in ending opposition to the New Order in the galaxy they now found themselves in; for the Kilrathi in the alliance, it meant not only a second chance to annihilate Earth after the Battle of Terra two decades before, but the avenging of Kilrah.

Aboard the bridge of the _Vacillator,_ Admiral Güthrig, XO of the Imperial Fleet, and Grand Moff Jhediah, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, knowing they were on the eve of battle, could do little but wait and make sure things were in order. Güthrig approached Jhediah with calm reserve, though it was clear right from the start of his hesitant approach that he was reluctant about something.

"Grand Moff, sir," Güthrig began.

"Ah, Admiral," Jhediah said, turning in his command chair in interest. "Any word on the damage we took during the Border Worlds conflict? I understand we took quite a bit of it during the fighting."

"Yes, sir. As you're aware, a number of Border Worlds corvettes rammed us... but what the shields didn't take, our hull absorbed."

"Very well, then. Was there anything else?"

Güthrig rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously feeling awkward at what he was about to say. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Please do. I detest niceties with vehemence."

"When I heard about you coming aboard this Super Star Destroyer to usurp my command, I had my own feelings about you."

Jhediah cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. Misgivings. That you were an arrogant, self-indulgent... child. It was bad enough the Fleet was in your hands, as a final insult you had now taken my own command from me. I was willing to serve you, but I did not believe in your methods."

"And now?"

"And now I see I was wrong about you. I am proud to serve under you as you pave the way for a new era of the Empire."

Jhediah gave a half-nod, acknowledging that it was no small feat for the Admiral to admit such a thing. Any further comments on the point would have only made the man feel all the more awkward, and Jhediah didn't wish to do that. He had anticipated earning the older officer's respect would have been no easy task, and an achievement in itself.

"Out of curiosity, sir, have you heard from our General Stele?"

"It was my understanding the General was reporting to you."

Güthrig's face noticeably flushed. "You mean he's gone MIA? He's the Air Group Commander of the Imperial Fleet's flagship—he can't simply leave!" Admiral Güthrig was angered by the matter. Less than a day since the last skirmish with the Border Worlds task force, and already Stele was gone. With less than half a day to go before the Imperial forces reached Earth, and with the Fleet slowed down by the need to keep pace with those Kilrathi ships still equipped with Jump Drive, this was definitely not the time for their most experienced and proficient fighter pilot to go gallivanting off.

"Calm yourself, Admiral. Let us see if he landed on another ship after the battle." Jhediah's voice was cool, modulated. With a wave of a hand, he signaled the comm officer to find him.

A few minutes later, the officer was successful. "He's landing on the Kilrathi Hakaga, sir. His Missile Boat has been cleared for landing in Hangar 19."

Güthrig felt his annoyance rising. "Get the Hakaga commander on the line—tell him that he is to detain General Stele upon his arrival, and—"

The Grand Moff interjected with a harsh and unexpected order, "I'm afraid that won't happen, Admiral. Not while I'm in command.

"If you had taken the time to research the records like I have, you would have noticed a view things. General Stele isn't a general—hasn't been since six years after the Battle of Endor. Since then, his general motif has just been a facade. His title is Guardian of the Empire,' his true rank is unknown, and he is the last within the Emperor's Ruling Circle. His decisions supercede mine during any given crisis. He also wears the Mind of Palpatine. He alone may choose the Heir to the Imperial Throne... and there is nothing we can do to stop him—not without betraying the ideals that are the foundation of the Empire's beginnings."

"I had no idea," Güthrig confessed.

"But enough on Stele. We have just under nine hours till we reach Charybdis... that's just under nine hours to oversee the final preparations for what will be remembered as the Third Imperium's baptism of fire."

Admiral Güthrig brought his boots together and saluted, for once with pride. "Yes, sir."

KIS _HAVAHN RAS SIVAR  
_EN ROUTE TO CHARYBDIS QUASAR JUMP POINT; ETA 8.8 HOURS  
0450 HOURS (CST)

General Maarek Stele pulled his Missile Boat into the hangar deck of the1,580-meter Kilrathi Hakaga supercarrier _Havahn ras Sivar._ He allowed the tractor beam to grasp and get locked down into the docking clamps his fighter. He powered down the engines with relative ease and stepped out onto the deck, nodding at the tech crews as he passed.

As hastily as he could, Maarek made his way into the adjoining corridor leading to the next hangar. On his way he passed and observed a squad of Kilrathi Marines, walking side-by-side with a squad of Stormtroopers, both groups brandishing their blaster rifles and _Dor-Chaks_—an odd and considerably imposing sight in itself. Maarek smiled as he saw a familiar, shapely woman approaching him in a tight, standard Imperial Navy uniform.

"Hey there, Maarek! What's going on?" Stele grinned at the sight of his old friend. Major General Dara Gloyerv was one of the few female command officers in the Imperial Fleet, and was more than an equal for all but a few of the male ones, too. They had known each other since the Retreat, following the Battle of Endor.

Stele had led a patrol squadron that had stumbled upon her ship, a Carrack cruiser, being mauled by a pair of Rebel Corellian Corvette Blockade Runners. In a swift attack, they had destroyed the corvettes, and then had held the system against Rebel reinforcements for close to twelve hours as the Carrack had limped into hyperspace. Since then, they had been comrades-in-arms, friends, and later much more.

He hesitated a moment, but emotion triumphed over duty. Stele kissed her passionately, slowly, savoring her taste. She pulled back in sudden surprise, inspecting his uniform.

"Whoa there, slick," she said. "Nice uniform, who'd you steal it off of?"

Stele managed a low laugh as they began to walk to the flag bridge of her ship, currently the _Havahn ras Sivar._ It could carry up to three squadrons of fighters, and had been extensively modified to be mostly automated, leaving lots of room for munitions and supplies.

It had been only by stroke of luck that the Hakaga had been found. As he had heard it discovered, Clan Ragitagha had stolen the then-nearly constructed supercarrier right out from under the late Crown Prince Thrakhath's nose in the Hari Sector some thirteen years ago without incident, keeping it reserve until the present. It took no tactical wizard to see that the _Havahn ras Sivar_ was one of the principle keys to Grand Moff Jhediah's strategy.

"I didn't steal it off anyone, Dara. It is my uniform. Has been since Onderon... fifteen years ago now." He became more serious. "I came here to ask a favor of you. The _Vacillator_ lost a number of its squadrons in the Border Worlds engagement... I require this vessel's 194th, 195th, and 41st Claw Squadrons." The 194th and 195th Imperial Fighter Squadrons were the best in the Fleet. Started from the remnants of Baron Soontir Fel's 181st Fighter Squadron, they had a reputation for not letting anyone in below the rank of commander. There was still four 181st veterans left in each squadron, and their craft bore the distinctive horizontal red stripes that had terrorized Rebel pilots for years. The 41st Claw Squadron was the Kilrathi equivalent. Twelve exceedingly adept Kilrathi pilots—members of the _Drakhai,_ Stele understood—flying Tarkhans.

"I'm sure something can be arranged, but—"

"What do the 194th and 195th fly nowadays?" Stele asked casually.

"The 194th is sticking with TIE Defenders. Heavily modified, of course."

"I see. That will be fine."

"Maarek..."

Stele startled, drawn away from whatever state of mind he had been in. "Y-yes?"

"Is there something else on your mind? Something you... you maybe came here to talk about?"

"Dara... do you ever think about home?"

The woman winced, looking at him in a befuddled manner. "Home? What a thing to think of..."

Stele's gaze didn't falter. He was serious. "I know."

"Maarek, I haven't been there in so long... so many years, not even in my mind. I don't like to think about it anymore. Wherever the Empire has me posted at the moment... that's my home." Dara looked down. "It's been easier for me that way. I make myself not remember."

"I remember," Stele said, his words sharp. He was disappointed in her. "I remember Kuan, my world before I was taken away from it and thrown into the Imperial Navy... the swoop races of my childhood, my friends, my mother, Marina... I remember these things because I choose to remember... because they're something that I will never let anyone take away from me." With that, duty overpowered emotion. Stele unexpectedly turned away sharply, already walking back the way he came while speaking behind him, "See that the appropriate orders are issued to the squadron commanders. Admiral Güthrig will be expecting the squadrons on the _Vacillator_ within the hour."

Dara was left to ponder Stele's words, murmuring, "I... I didn't know it meant that much to you, Maarek..."

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1210 HOURS (CST)

Standing at the front of the bridge, Fleet Admiral William Eisen smiled as the last Border Worlds cruiser made the jump into the Sirius System. The Confed carriers TCS _McKinley_, _Apostle,_ _Kyushu,_ _Valley Forge_, and the still-unfinished Midway-class megacarrier _Mistral Sea_ each made up a task force of battle groups assembled from the First, Third, Seventh, and Fourteenth Fleets. Being assigned to patrol the Sirius System in anticipation of the arrival of the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet, the arriving UBW Navy assistance bolstered the Sirius blockade significantly. The Border Worlds' fleet in-system a grand total of nine cruisers, five destroyers, four Durango-class heavy destroyers, twelve frigates, ten corvettes, five CVE-class escort "jeep" carriers, thirty-four transports, one Ranger II-class carrier, and one Arcadia-class fleet carrier.

Thirty seconds later, two carriers crossed the threshold of the Sirius-Proxima jump point. The Bhantkara supercarrier of the duo could only be one vessel.

"It's the Landreich, sir!" exclaimed Lieutenant McKnight from her station. "The FRLS _Independence_... and the _Mjollnir."_

The CVE-class _Independence..._ formerly the _Tarawa,_ CVE-07; the Bhantkara-class supercarrier _Mjollnir..._ formerly the KIS _Karga._ "Patch me through to the _Mjollnir, _Rollins." Eisen's grin widened as Commander Ted "Radio" Rollins made it so. "Bear, you out there?"

Eisen turned to see the holographically projected image of Rear Admiral Jason "Bear" Bondarevsky materialize. "Admiral Eisen... good to see you, sir."

"And good to see you, son." Eisen had several run-ins with Bear in the Border Worlds systems of Vega Sector when the _St. Helens_ was called upon by the Third Fleet over the last few years, as well as knowing him from when he'd been aboard the _Coventry_ in the old _Victory'_s battle group. "Oh, hell, you should know better than that by now—call me Bill."

"All right, Bill. You got it." Jason smiled, if grudgingly. "Needless to say, the Free Republic of Landreich Navy has come to assist, courtesy of our humble president, Hans Maximillian Kruger. You see, we in the Landreich may admittedly be a backwards government on the outer fringes of space... but we haven't forgotten where we came from. We'll never let those bastards get to Earth. The FRLN can only spare the two carriers, but hopefully we won't run into anything we can't handle. _Mjollnir_ and the VF-401 Shadow Cats' haven't failed me yet."

"Who's in command of the _Independence?"_

"That would be our boy Kevin Tolwyn. Would you believe he's a rear admiral as well?"

"The Lone Wolf himself, eh? Send Max Confed's thanks."

"I'll do that. What's the game plan?"

"Wait." Eisen shrugged. "High Command is in the process of recalling seventy percent of all carriers in the Navy's fleets to the defense of Sol Sector... my battle group here has been assigned to this system."

"Everybody here?"

"For the time being, yes. The Kilrathi Provisional Counsel—with Lord Murragh and Chancellor Melek on both sides of the fence—promise Kilrathi Assembly support in the next day or so. They claim to have sent reinforcements of their own en route right now to arrive in Sol from the Epsilon Sector." Eisen made a face. "They want it made clear that the Kilrathi factions that joined the Galactic Empire acted alone, and are, as a result of their subsequent actions, enemies of the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans."

"Damn Cats... they're just trying to save their own hides," Bondarevsky chimed. "First chance they get for revenge and half the Assembly of Clans runs off with this Galactic Empire."

"We need all the help we can get. I'll talk to you later, Bear." The two exchanged a salute, and then Bondarevsky's image vanished. Eisen grabbed his PPC computer and started for the turbolift. "If anyone needs me, I'll be reviewing tactical in my cabi—"

"Wait, sir! We've got incoming!" Commander Rollins shouted. His eyes widened as he looked at his readings, then turned in his chair to Eisen. "It looks like the fleet, sir."

Lurching out of the pseudomotion of hyperspace, the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet made its surprise entrance five thousand klicks ahead of the Sirius-Proxima jump point, beginning with the entrance of the arrowhead-shaped Star Destroyers.

When the fleet was through, it was unbelievable. Tactical counted six Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, one Victory-class Star Destroyer, one Lancer-class Frigate, two Fralthi II-class Kilrathi cruisers, nine light Kilrathi destroyers, and a total of thirty-eight Kilrathi corvettes. Just as it seemed the entirety of the fleet had completed its hyperspace jump, the jump point behind the fleet flashed, the hulking frame of a 22 kilometer Kilrathi Dreadnought pulling up the rear of the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet.

Eisen gazed resolutely at the fleet visible through the viewports, narrowing his eyes. "So this is it," he said. "Right here... right now."

"Transmission from the BWS _Zephyr,_ Admiral," Lieutenant McKnight announced.

The _Zephyr?_ Eisen scratched his head at the mention of the makeshift Ranger II-class Border Worlds medium carrier. "Put it on."

Border Worlds Vice Admiral Craig Jamison appeared in another holographic transmission beside another man. The Vice Admiral addressed Eisen, "One of my carrier's squadron commanders, the man who did more than his part to delay the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet in Alcor yesterday, would like to speak." Jamison stepped out of the field, leaving only the second man's image transmitting.

"My name is Major Frederick von Richthofen, VF-14 Talon' Squadron. You, sir, do not know me, though I am a great admirer of your career since you helmed the TCS _Victory."_

Well, flattery earned him Eisen's attention. "Tell me what's on your mind, son."

"That Imp and Cat fleet we're looking at right now... together, we can take it. That dreadnought out there... my squadron messed it up pretty bad in Alcor—nearly crippled it entirely—and they couldn't have done too much in the time since to repair it. A couple surgical strikes on its weakened aft and it should be history."

"I read your CO's report on the matter this morning, but thanks just the same."

"Ah, just one more thing, sir. That's not the entire fleet..." Richthofen muttered. "Aren't you wondering where their Executor-class Super Star Destroyer is? Or that Interdictor Cruiser? Or what about that Hakaga supercarrier? They must have split their fleet somewhere in Loki VI in Vega... planning on attacking Sol Sector on at least two fronts..."

Eisen grimaced. "It does looks that way, doesn't it? Now there's not a whole lot we can do about it but hold our own here."

"Understood, sir." Major Richthofen saluted before his projected image faded off, more a showing of respect than anything else.

"If you ask me, sir, this looks like the start of an old-fashioned shit kicking contest," interjected Commander Rollins.

Eisen took his command chair. "Give the _McKinley,_ _Apostle,_ _Kyushu,_ and _Valley Forge_ the greenlight to release their fighter squadrons, and tell the Border Worlds and Landreich vessels to do the same." He glanced at Commander Ryans, the _St. Helens'_ CAG, who currently stood at attention in anticipation of the inevitable order. "See that the wing and squadron commanders have our fighters deployed ASAP." The _St. Helens'_ 400 fighters in four fighter wings were sure to do some damage.

"Yessir." Ryans turned for the lift.

Eisen gave a look at Rollins. "A shit kicking contest, is it, Commander? Let's get kicking."

TCS _MIDWAY;_ BRIDGE  
DEPARTING CONFEDERATE HQ STARBASE, JUPITER ORBIT  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1303 HOURS (CST)

"You're cleared for departure, _Midway._ Good luck out there!"

While his comm officers finished their duty, Captain Daniel Wilford watched through the viewports with Commodore Blair and Commander Drake behind him as his megacarrier cleared the docking clamps of Confederate Headquarters Starbase, beginning to depart high orbit of Jupiter as the _Midway_'s great impulse engines came to life.

Upon recommendation by Commodore Blair, he had been elected commanding officer of the _Midway,_ and had come aboard only two hours previously while the _Midway_ received the rest of its crew, fighter complement, and the first Vampires to come off the assembly lines. The _Midway,_ the first megacarrier, was quite the ship. 1,830 meters and 200,000 tonnes of Confederation fury, 252 fighters in an air group of three full flight wings, and six arterial launch bays. A grade reduction to captain from vice admiral was well worth it. Wilford had expected an average maiden voyage, maybe a quick, scenic tour of one of the outer systems that would give him time to adjust to his new command and give the crew time to get to know their captain.

That wasn't going happen, and that suited Wilford just fine.

The word had come in of the Imperial/Kilrathi appearance in Sirius, as expected. Fleet Admiral Eisen, CO of the battle group assigned to the system blockade, was in the middle of a full scale battle. "You hang in there, Bill..." he whispered, wishing his old friend luck. Being that the _St. Helens_ itself was designed after the Hakagas that attacked Earth in 2668, he wasn't too worried for his friend.

Wilford watched through the viewports as the _Midway_ headed back into space, the NRS _Defiance_ and the Nebulon-B escort frigate _Liberator_ taking up formation to its port. A familiar-looking heavy destroyer approached from starboard, flanked by five Plunkett-class artillery cruisers and two Murphy-class destroyers.

"Admiral Ackbar here, Captain Wilford," the Mon Calamarian spoke over the comm, his salamander-like visage appearing over one viewport. "The _Defiance_ and _Liberator_ are ready to accompany you out."

"Thanks for waiting, Admiral."

Ackbar let a sigh, ending the transmission with, "May the Force be with us all."

Wilford stood still after the Admiral's visage disappeared. "God knows we'll need it."

"Captain Tamara Farnsworth here, Commodore," a familiar voice spoke a few moments after Ackbar. A woman's face appeared over one viewport. "On the orders of Space Marshal Deniken, Admiral Rayak, and the Third Fleet, the TCS _Intrepid_ and her battle group are authorized to escort you to Blockade Point Zeta."

"Panther? Panther, is that you?" Blair laughed out loud, stepping beside Wilford. After the Border Worlds incident, the then-BWS _Intrepid, _an old Durango-class heavy destroyer that had formerly been the TCS _Delphi_ prior to its capture by the then-UBW Militia, had become an escort carrier. It had been used for the hands-on training of Confederation Naval Space Force Academy cadets, similar to how the _Tiger's Claw_ was when Blair was a cadet. Blair had stayed on as instructor for a few years with Panther as a fellow instructor before Taggart gave him the Armed Forces Committee's pitch.

"The one and only, Chris." She smiled, not looking a day older than when he saw her last. "Captain Wilford. Good to see you again."

Wilford grinned. "You treating my baby all right?"

"Of course, sir. The _Intrepid_'s in good hands." Panther looked back to Blair. "I hear you have Hawk on that ship of yours. Keep him in line for me, okay?"

Blair cocked a grin. "I'll do that, Panther."

"Blockade Point Zeta... is that not in the Weslyn System?" Commander Patricia Drake inquired.

"Yes, it is," Wilford replied.

"At the risk of sounding completely stupid... the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet has already arrived. It's in Sirius right now."

"A portion of it, Commander," Wilford explained. "Half, if we're lucky. The main fleet has yet to surface, and the Confed Armada has to fan out in blockades until they emerge. Admiral Eisen's battle group can hold the fort in Sirius until they do."

Commander Drake grunted. "I see."

"Um, Captain... Commodore, sirs, I think there's something you should see."

Blair turned a glance at Ensign Jarvis, who looked meekly up at the Commodore. "What is it, Ensign?"

"Some kind of disturbance, sir... anomalous readings in the outer system. I-I don't know... it could be nothing." Ensign Jarvis hesitated, knowing the last anomaly he had detected and reported to the Commodore had been a 1,255-meter MC-90 Mon Calamari Star Cruiser and a Nebulon-B from a distant galaxy. "But it almost looks like something's... something's..."

"Spit it out, Ensign," Blair admonished. "You're not in the Academy anymore."

"It looks like something is coming through, sir."

Blair narrowed his eyes. "Where?"

"Somewhere past the orbit of Pluto..." Jarvis' eyes shot open with terror as he brought up more information that confirmed his fears. "I-it's the Oort Cloud, sir!"

If history was any indication at all, something coming out of Sol System's Oort Cloud could mean only one thing.

Blair stood back, exchanging a look with Captain Wilford. "Christ... they're coming across Charybdis!"

They could forget about Blockade Point Zeta.

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
1325 HOURS (CST)

"The Charybdis Quasar... with Jump Drive, someone can cut a corner through the Ulysses Corridor directly to Sol from Vega Sector," Commodore Blair explained over the comm. "In 2654 I chased an old Snakeir into it when the Kilrathi Empire attempted a direct surprise strike on Earth. Until reinforcements can arrive, it's up to us to protect Earth."

"Understood, Commodore. We'll do our part."

Luke watched Admiral Ackbar conclude the grim transmission with his commodore friend on the _Midway,_ considering the situation with a clear and focused conscience. He let a deep sigh, looking within the Force and himself for the guidance and wisdom to see matters through.

Hesitantly, he looked out the viewports. One after the other in almost instantaneous succession, an entire fleet of Imperial and Kilrathi capships became visible on the event horizon, all heading in a line straight for Earth.

Tactical station counted one Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, one Hakaga supercarrier, three Imperial Star Destroyers, one Victory Star Destroyer, one Katana dreadnaught, two Fralthi II cruisers, two Fralthra cruisers, two Kamekh destroyers, one Ralari II heavy destroyer, and two Snakeir carriers. Luke didn't have to be a tactical officer to know that that didn't stack good against them.

Leia appeared at his side, R2-D2 rolling behind her and Threepio trying to keep up. His sister's face was wrought with concern. "Luke..."

It didn't take the Force to see what was wrong. "Han is fine, Leia, and Jaina, too. Don't worry about them."

"They didn't have to go on that mission..."

She spoke of the mission Confederation Special Ops Han and Jaina volunteered for on the _St. Helens,_ a vague mission the details of which Luke wasn't even aware of to round up the best bunch of mercenaries the galaxy had to offer. "They're not alone out there. They have escorts..." He thought better of mentioning the name of the "war vet" the _Midway_ assigned the _Falcon_'s wing, some fancy pilot called "Maniac" Marshall. "Yes they did. They did, and you know it. If we're going to win this, we're all going to have to do our part—not sit on our hands while the people of this galaxy die fighting our war."

"Oh, Luke..."

"It's going to be all right," he coaxed his sister, taking her hand. "Our enemies are great, but we have made ourselves powerful allies. We're going to win this, Leia. It'll all be over soon."

"That's... that's what I'm afraid of."

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301  
1339 HOURS (CST)

"Let's get this shit over with."

General Wedge Antilles chuckled a little at his wingman, Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley, instructing, "Just follow my lead and stay sharp."

"Uh-huh."

Admiral Ackbar had managed to convince the CAG of the _Midway's air group_ and the wing commander of the _Intrepid'_s flight wing that the Rogue Squadron pilots would each serve as wing leader to one of the two carriers' pilots. It was for two reasons: one, that Rogue Squadron had a great deal of experience in confronting the Imperial Fleet, and two, that most of the Rogues simply had more combat experience.

Wedge unlocked his S-foils, maxed his speed, and hit his newly-equipped afterburners. He peaked out at 1,312 KPS, a velocity his X-wing had not even achieved in the past with the sacrifice of all shield and laser power to the engines and astromech droid boosting. He confessed to liking it a great deal.

The stage of the battle was set. The squadrons of the _Midway,_ the _Intrepid,_ and the _Defiance_ were about to meet the Imperial/Kilrathi resistance up close and personal.

"Rogue Leader to Rogue Squadron. Report in."

"Rogue Two here," spoke Captain Tycho Celchu.

"Rogue Three reporting in, babysitting my wingman," came Commander Corran Horn.

"Rogue Four alive'n kicking," spoke Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter.

"Stingray alive and ready to lay the smack down on some Imp'n Cat ass," came an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it was, it wasn't a Rogue.

"Cut the chatter, Confed pilot," Wedge advised, then instructing, "All Rogues accelerate to attack velocity. Pick your targets and keep any bombers off our capships."

The assembled fleet of the Imperial and Kilrathi alliance loomed in the distance, eight thousand klicks away, the arrowheads of the Star Destroyers spearheading the fleet of mighty capships.

Gate, Wedge's R5-D2 astromech droid, whistled and whined from behind him in its socket. Its words translated on Wedge's readout screen as, "This doesn't look good, sir."

Wedge chuckled. "Yeah, well, neither did diving into the second Death Star."

"Bogies everywhere, General," Hawk informed. "Those Kilrathi ships are dropping their starfighters. Gang's all here, looks like. I'm reading squadrons of Darkets, Dralthi IVs, Vs, VIIs, Shok'lars, Strakhas, Zartoth EWs... fuck, the list goes on... Jratheks, Gothris, Kor'larhs, Gorans, Vaktoth IIs, Bloodfang IIs, Sorthaks, Vataris, and Paktahns... Jesus... and the TIEs..."

Yes, the TIEs.

Sweeping forth was a veritable swarm of TIEs and other Imperial fighter craft, pouring from the Star Destroyers' innards like hordes of locusts and spreading out in unheard of waves and wings. TIE Interceptors, TIE Bombers, TIE Advanced/Avengers, TIE Defenders, TIE Phantoms, TIE Robotics, Star Wings/Assault Gunboats, and Missile Boats—the gang was all here.

Wedge checked his scopes closely. The Dralthi, Vaktoths, and Sorthaks were heading toward the Confed and Rogue fighters at different vectors. "Let's take the Paktahns," he decided. "They're the nearest hostiles packing the biggest payloads." The A-wings, B-wings, Y-wings, E-wings, K-wings, and other X-wing wings could handle their own.

"Wilco."

Wedge targeted and waited for lock on the lead Paktahn wing, currently four thousand klicks off. The squadron of bombers took no notice of the approaching two fighters who had dropped a bead on them and continued on their way to whichever of the Confed/Republic capital ships they were targeting on their bombing runs. The distance between them slipped to three thousand klicks. "Got them in my sights... watch my back, Hawk."

F-109A VAMPIRE 302  
1354 HOURS (CST)

"Roger that."

Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley loosened up his formation with General Antilles, falling back a few meters. Scanning over the nearby targets, he found two wings of Sorthak heavy fighters had targeted Hawk and Wedge.

Four Kilrathi fighters.

Before the Kilrathi War ended, Hawk had 96 confirmed Kilrathi kills. It was something he was known to brag about. When Blair dropped the T-Bomb on Kilrah and Hawk was left without a war to fight in, he was grimly certain his 96 Cat kills would forever remain four short of one hundred.

"Engaging enemy," Hawk spoke, licking his lips as he cut his 'burners, turned off into a Shelton Slide, and maneuvered one of the Sorthaks into his crosshairs. His particle and tachyon lasers connected with the lead Sorthak's front shields. Hawk fired off a Spiculum ImRec at the first sound of a lock and was already moving on to his next target. By this time the Sorthaks' meson blasters were splashing energy across Hawk's Vampire, forcing him to veer off into the exploding gas cloud that had been the Sorthak he hit with the ImRec. Even as he was preparing for another run, the meson fire pounding at his aft shields, he released four Pilum IFFs, letting the missiles take their targets as he came around once more.

"Coming up on the Paktahns," Wedge reported over his headset. "You need any help back there?"

Hawk grunted, smiling as the cockpit rocked from the impact of a heat-seeker on his tail. "Hell no, General."

"Just checking."

Hawk noted the damage his Pilum IFFs had done—each of the four had hit, and the three Sorthaks' aft shields were gone.

"Nothing worse..." He brought the survivor of the first Sorthak wing in his sights, who seemed intent on taking Hawk head-on. He let him have it, turning on his axis as he kept full-guns. Hawk's shields held... the Sorthak's didn't. Hawk dove through the debris of the second kill on afterburners and peppered the evading two Sorthaks with full-guns, hitting bare hull with every blast until each of them burst. "... than a 'fraidy cat."

One hundred Kilrathi kills.

"Damn skippy..."

Content and pleased with himself for the moment, Hawk kept afterburners on to catch up with Wedge.

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301  
1401 HOURS (CST)

Wedge kept his afterburners going, fighting to close the gap between his X-wing and the three wings of Paktahns that were almost within striking distance of the patrolling InSys carrier TCS _Bradshaw._ The Concordia-class _Bradshaw_'s turret emplacements and flak cannons were already opening up on the incoming Kilrathi fighters. "Come on..." he rasped, his crosshairs still centered on the lead Paktahn, "... come _on..."_

His crosshairs went yellow as his targeting computer began receiving a lock. In five seconds he had it. Never letting off the afterburners, he immediately launched an Advanced Proton Torpedo at the Paktahn, following it up with linked fire from all four of his X-wing's lasers.

Too late.

The Paktahn wings launched their torpedoes. In futility, Wedge targeted and sped after one of the torpedoes, switching to dual-fire as he hoped for a lucky shot.

"Mayday, mayday, this is the TCS _Bradshaw!_ Squadrons be advised we are under heavy bomber attack a—"

And that was all the communications officer managed to get out before the carrier's hull breached off the starboard side. Wedge counted five torpedoes smacking into and through the shields of the carrier, more than an ample enough salvo to finish the Concordia-class carrier.

"Damn this war..." Wedge veered right, noting he had destroyed the first Paktahn with his Proton Torpedo and laser firing and taking another target. Anger crept into his fingertips as he took the controls now, anger and something else. Something that he hadn't felt since he signed up for the Rebellion as a idealistic, headstrong Corellian youth with a yearning for Imperial blood.

"The _Bradshaw... fuck!"_ It was Hawk, finally catching up with him and reforming on his wing. "We didn't make it..."

Wedge opened up on the next Paktahn, fleeing with the others for the cover of the interceptors. _"Damn this war..."_

KIS _VHAS__'KARATH; _FLAG BRIDGE  
EN ROUTE TO PLANET EARTH; ETA: 06:09  
1419 HOURS (CST)

From the flag bridge of his Ralari II flagship, Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki watched with delight as the shattered hulk of the distant Terran carrier turned on its axis, well into its final death throes.

"So it begins," he spoke softly, his deep voice almost purring. He turned to his robed _Tho'reari,_ who stood loyally at his side. "ETA to _Nak'tara?"_

"Six hours, nine minutes."

"Good. See that the _Havahn ras Sivar_ stays flanked and within our protection..."

"Of course, my baron," his robed _Tho'reari,_ Vharvek said. Vharvek was a lowborn, his fur coarse and unremarkable, but he was the most loyal officer Thokkarh could hope for. He had always considered him part of his _hrai._ "We cannot very well have our Hakaga's precious antimatter warheads go to waste, can we?"

The gleam in Thokkarh's eye was Vharvek's answer. "Years we have waited... and years we have endured. No more. We have cut and blazed a path to their homeworld, and at last we have the means to bring the hairless apes to their knees." He grinned wickedly. "Sivar be praised."

PLANET EARTH; HALL OF THE GREAT ASSEMBLY, WASHINGTON D.C.  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1432 HOURS (CST)

"You have seen the news. You have read the reports. I now give you President Quinson."

President Dave Quinson, still holding his presidency after twelve years, took the stand from the Master of the Assembly, Senator Taggart. "I am the heart of the Confederation,'" he recited ceremoniously from memory after a long pause. "A servant of peace... a deliverer of freedom... a guardian of worlds. As I pave the road to victory I shall not fear the enemy, for he cannot conquer justice. As I light the righteous fire of peace I shall hold life sacred... for it is my duty to rise against evil.' This is the Terran Confederation Oath of Service, an oath written the same day the Articles of Confederation were signed by our founding worlds, the oath every loyal citizen of the Confederation should know in their heart.

"By now you are all aware of the incursion by an extra-galactic force known as the Galactic Empire, and that it has forged an alliance with at least three of the Great Clans of the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans. The Union of Border Worlds has already suffered heavy losses and at this time these enemies' fleets are fighting toe-to-toe with our own in the Sirius and Sol System. It is no secret what they are after... it is Terra. Sol III. Earth."

President Quinson shuffled his papers and ran his gaze over the faces of the press and civilians. "On this day of December the 28th, it should come as no surprise that the Confederation Senate has unanimously voted for a declaration of war against the Galactic Empire and the Kilrathi Clans in their alliance. God be with us all. Thank you, and God bless."

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ FLIGHT DECK  
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
2680.362; 1245 HOURS (CST)

_"... in their alliance. God be with us all. Thank you, and God bless."_

Han Solo flicked off his makeshift Confed radio, currently on yesterday's TNC broadcast, and gazed out the cockpit of his infamous 27 meter-long YT-1300 "stock" light freighter, the _Millennium Falcon,_ in awe. The extremely large hangar of the _St. Helens_ was stock full of fighters ranging from every size and shape. Large TB-80A Devastator bombers sitting alongside small Piranha scout fighters.

"Solo here, requesting permission to take her out," asked Solo into the comm.

"This is _St. Helens_ Flight command, you are go for launch, General Solo," responded the comm officer. With that, Han hit the thrusters as the _Falcon_ slowly lifted from the deck of the _St. Helens_ on its repulsorjets and burst out of the hangar from the ship. The _Falcon_ quickly banked around the port side of the supercarrier and whisked past the laser turrets, heading straight on as a pair of fighters quickly were launched from the _St. Helens._

General Solo... that was a rank he hadn't held in fifteen years, not since the year and a half when the New Republic found itself confronted by the cloned Emperor, his fleet, his World Devastators, his Galaxy Gun, and a number of his Dark Jedi involved in Operation: Shadow Hand. Old Lando had actually taken command of a captured Star Destroyer in those days...

Twice Han had turned in his Republic commission since the Battle of Endor. War was never his thing, not even when Leia tamed him out of the smuggling life, but he had two sons galaxies away who might very well never see their father again. He would never forgive himself if he let himself sit on the sidelines when he could make a difference in things.

This morning Han had asked Ackbar for his rank and a mission with a clean conscience.

A F-108A Panther fighter with a F/A-105A Tigershark-flying wingman flew on each side of the _Falcon._ The Panther pilot clearly reckless in his movements, punched the afterburners and did a 560 degree barrel roll as he slowed into escort pattern. Chewbacca exclaimed a short guttural roar as he shook his head.

"This is Major Todd Maniac' Marshall here. We will be escorting your... _hmph_... freighter to the TCS _Kristin_ where we'll be transported to New Constantinople. You see, our Confederation fighters aren't equipped with Hyperspace engines, nor Jump engines for that matter, therefore we gotta hitch a ride with the Destroyer," stated Maniac with a sign of resentment. Lieutenant Jean "Stiletto" Talvert sighed in discomfort. Blair had ordered that Stiletto fly wingman for Maniac, officially, to "learn the ropes from a vet," but the truth was it was to "keep him in line" should he get overzealous. Unfortunately, there was little she could do if he had done that anyways.

The trio of ships made with haste towards the Weslyn jump point where the TCS _Kristin_ awaited them. The _Kristin,_ an older 530-meter Tallahassee-class cruiser, had a small hangar bay that was clearly emptied. The _Falcon_ and the two fighters went in one by one as the _Kristin_ activated the jump point. A swirl of life opened up and engulfed the ship as it went through.

As the _Kristin_ went through the space-fabric anomaly known as an Antigraviton Tropic Anomaly (or "jump point"), everything within the ship froze to a stand still. Eyes held open, people bracing for the jump, all frozen in a odd effect of space time for a few seconds before the effect subsided and time restarted itself all at once. Minutes later, as the _Kristin_ exited the point, several of the crew lurched in dizziness that was known as jumpshock.

Han, Jaina, and Chewbacca shook off the massive discomfort that the jump created and walked out onto the deck of the cruiser. The old cruiser had made it clear that it was involved in many a conflict by the burn marks on the hull. Han frowned as he noticed that the cruiser was not like the rather clean deck of the _Midway_ or the _Defiance._ Instead it was a dirty, oil-slicked mess.

"Quaint," Jaina remarked, nodding around her as she brushed aside a strand of her brunette hair. So much like her mother, yet so much like Han. She had always taken after him.

"Yeah..."

"Ugh... this is not exactly the cleanest place in the galaxy," exclaimed Stiletto as she exited her Tigershark.

_"Hah,_ you shoulda seen the TCS_ Victory_ after the Battle of Blackmane," Maniac interjected. "That place was real shit sty—we had a Hellcat berth set aside for spare parts."

"Must of been a hell of a battle," Stiletto said.

"You have no idea. First there was this wave of Darkets, then there was another wave of bombers..." Maniac silenced himself as he noticed Han and Chewbacca. He sized Chewbacca up for a moment. "Hey, hey, hey. Alien cats... birds... now _dogs._ Shit, now I can say I seen it all. No offense."

Chewie whined, befuddled. Han was equally confused. "Dog?"

The hatch opened up and a medium-height, dignified officer with a pair of silver bars on his collar walked out. He was a lieutenant, albeit, a Navy lieutenant, but a lieutenant none the less. A lesser grade to the higher ranking Maniac, who was a major in the Space Force. The lieutenant walked up to Maniac and Stiletto.

Stiletto, knowing that she was a lesser grade than the Navy lieutenant, saluted crisply. However, Maniac chose not to give the same courtesy. The lieutenant returned the salute and started to speak.

"Good day, pilots. I'm Lieutenant Jacob White and welcome to the _Kristin._ Please come with me and I'll show you to your quarters. Oh, and... please bear with us. We do have a light skeleton crew and I..."

"Where's my salute, _Lieutenant?"_ interrupted the Maniac defiantly.

"Major Marshall. I believe you know that, being that I am the captain of this ship, I don't salute anyone under an admiral. Not even if he's a higher rank than I. So kindly refrain from asking that question again or you may get back in your fighter and fly to New Constantinople yourself. I have no time to waste," replied the lieutenant. Maniac turned bright red and popped off his own salute. White returned the salute just as briskly. Chewbacca laughed in his typical Wookiee way. With a roar. Han glanced at him and smiled. White looked over at the hairy alien and turned a shade of white.

"Ah-apology acc-cepted. Now, if you pilots and guests please come with me, I'll show you to our VIP quarters, not that they are much different, but make yourself at home. It will take a few short hours to get to New Constantinople."

Han Solo inspected this blond giant, scrutinizing every aspect of him. Han glanced over at his daughter. Jaina was coolly gazing at the Lieutenant, as if evaluating him as well. As Han watched, her gaze swept over his body, taking in every detail. Han whispered to Jaina, "Easy now, Jaina. He's probably twice your age and married. Besides, Zekk is still back home, remember?"

She blushed fiercely. "Dad! I wasn't even thinking about him that way. And besides, there is nothing going on between Zekk and me. We're just friends." Han gave her a glance, smiling.

"Sir, I'm a little astounded," spoke Stiletto as the group of people walked down through the corridors of the ship. "You command a heavy cruiser, and yet you're only a lieutenant. Not that it's any of my business, but... lieutenants usually rate corvettes, do they not?"

"Well, I wasn't too, shall we say, popular with Commodore Stately. That would be the second in command at Perry Naval Base, the center of Confed operations in Gemini. He knew I was a good officer and that they couldn't put me out on the sidelines. So he gave me this cruiser and a command, but they didn't promote me. So I don't have the pay or benefits of a captain or a commander. I got over it." 

Stiletto smiled at the willpower behind Lieutenant White. He was a strong man with a good heart.

As they got to the VIP quarters, there were five of them, one for each person in the party. Jaina walked in and frowned in disgust. As did all of the others of the group. Unkempt beds, Metal floors. And no dresser what so ever. Maniac and Stiletto were the ones who were most sickened because they were used to the way squadron commanders were treated on the _Midway. _Nice quarters. Maniac, spoiled by too many top assignments in his career, forgot how it was to live on a run down ship.

"Forget this. Chewie, I'm sleeping on the _Falcon,"_ bellowed Han. Chewie roared in reply and they both walked to the deck, Jaina following. It was going to be a long trip.

TCS _KRISTIN;_ FLIGHT DECK  
THE NEW CONSTANTINOPLE SYSTEM, POTTER QUADRANT, GEMINI SECTOR  
2045 HOURS (CST)

As the _Kristin_ jumped into the system, the group was noticed the small flotilla that was building there. Maniac looked out of his window and noticed that there was at least seven Confed capital ships in formation at the jump point. The cruiser floated and proceeded to dock with the New Constantinople Station and Maniac saw that there was a light carrier next to them. Ranger-class. They all entered onto the station as the green light over the airlock appeared and the airlock hatch opened in a gust of wind.

A young spaceman was waiting for the group as they entered and hurriedly approached them. He saluted the Major as he came out and Maniac returned the salute crisply.

"All of you, please come with me. Commodore Stately is waiting in his office."

"Okay, son, take us to him," replied Han, eager to look around the beautiful station.

"Maybe you should let the Major do his job, Dad," suggested Jaina with a frown. Han had been a tad too eager to get down to business. The group followed the spaceman as he took them to the lift and up to Commodore Stately's office. They entered and got their first look at the Commodore. He was an older man with white haired features and lots of wrinkles. Waiting with them was a rugged-looking younger man and a Kilrathi. Maniac took attention, did a double take as he saw the Cat, and almost drew his sidearm in shock. Chewie growled.

"Calm yourself, Major. He's a friend of Brownhair here," ordered the Commodore.

"Uh, sir... who's Brownhair?" asked Maniac.

"That would be me," stated the man. Han noted the curious scar over his eyebrow. "And my Kilrathi friend here is Khajja."

"No name on you, huh?"

"You got a problem with Brownhair?'"

"Please, all of you, please have a seat. Allow me to explain," stated the Commodore as they all sat down on a sofa that was available, "As you know, this is Brownhair, at least, that's what we all know him by. He is the leader of a group of elite privateers that are signed up with Confed for this conflict, and a member of both the Merchants' and Mercenaries' guilds. As you should have guessed, we are massing the Gemini fleet to move down to Sol Sector to defend Terra. As both the Sol and Sirius systems are under attack as we speak, we must act quickly. President Quinson has already announced a declaration of war against the Galactic Empire and the Cat Clans in their alliance." The group of people, excluding Brownhair and his Kilrathi companion, frowned. How would this fleet get there in time? "Now, Sol would be vapor by the time our ships would get to the battle area so we equipped them with a one time use Hyperdrive. Should get us there in the nick of time if we leave within the day. Unfortunately, that means you guys will have to go back into battle without a rest. For this I'm sorry. Any questions?"

Maniac spoke up. "Sir, what ships are we sending down there?"

"Well, we are sending the TCS _Macedonia,_ the Ranger light carrier that you most likely saw. We are also sending two Tallahassee-class cruisers, a trio of Sheffield-class destroyers, and two Murphy-class destroyers. Along with the Confed fleet will be Brownhair's escort carrier. The _New Machiapippian_ should support the fleet very well. It holds about 30 Centurion-class fighters, all full of mercenaries that signed up and formed a guild of their own with Brownhair."

"What? How in the hell did a small time privateer get a hold of an _escort carrier?"_ demanded Han.

"I can answer that," replied Brownhair, his voice cool and calculated. "I contracted a deal with a wealthy civilian transport shipyard CEO. He built the carrier on a transport hull. All of the fighters and crew on board the carrier came to me for a base of operations."

"Out of the kindness of his heart, right?"

"No. He owed me a favor. I collected."

Han smiled as he heard the Privateer speak of his missions. There were times, many times, that he found himself missing the old life that he had led, before his involvement with Obi-Wan and Luke back in his home galaxy. The old days. "So what'd you do, kid?" he asked, half-jokingly. "Smuggling run? Arms deal? C'mon, what is it? I done it all."

"Then you should know I can't discuss any of it." Han smiled at Brownhair's response. He was right. "But as I was saying, we even have a pair of Orions and a few Galaxies on board. Hell, we even have a Mercenaries' Guild member on board. By doing this mission for Confed, we have something of an... understanding. The Confed and local Militia will leave us alone."

"Okay, we need to get this show on the road. I'll be in command of the battle group aboard the _Macedonia._ You should have your ships transported to the _Macedonia_ as soon as possible, however, General Solo. Our pilots don't even want to try to fly your freighter—I'm afraid that's up to you," stated the Commodore.

"No problem. I would have killed any pilot if he touched it anyways," replied Han. The Commodore smiled and shook hands as they stood up and walked out of his office.

TCS _MACEDONIA;_ BRIDGE  
2215 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Stately sat back in his chair. At the command post again. He would enjoy commanding his group into battle again. Just as the Commodore got comfortable, the ensign at communications turned towards him.

"Sir, the _Millennium Falcon_ just landed and the battle group is ready to enter hyperspace."

"And the _New Machiapippian..._ are they ready?"

"Yessir."

"Very well. Inform the group to enter hyperspace in one minute."

"Yessir," replied the comm officer and he turned the group what he was ordered. As one minute passed, the carrier had a slight dimming of light as the engines came on-line. The carrier, as with the battle group, then accelerated into another form of space that was much kinder than "Jump Space." There was no jumpshock or queasiness to speak of. Just a blue spinning vortex that the battle group was traveling into with initially the slight sensation of pulling Gs. 

No one quite knew what was going to be on the other side.

**CONT...**


	6. Chapter V

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter V : Absolution

  
NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
NEAR JUPITER ORBIT  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
DEC 30 2680/2680.363; 1435 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Ackbar felt the hope inside him fade with the glowing debris of the TCS _Bradshaw._ The report was in: no survivors. The once-grand light fleet carrier was lost with all hands. They had barely gotten off all of their fighters before the torpedoes hit. Ackbar hoped that this wasn't a sign of the way things were to come. His attention was torn from his brief mourning with a cry from the _Defiance_'s chief sensors officer.

"Admiral!" one of the Quarren officers among the Calamarian crew shouted. "Sensors show sixteen Paktahn-class torpedo bombers approaching on an attack vector!" 

As Ackbar responded, decades of military experience kicked in. "All weapons, target incoming bombers and fire at will. Begin evasive maneuvers. Green Wing, intercept the enemy bombers. Blue Wing is to intercept incoming missiles."

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301  
1438 HOURS (CST)

Wedge gasped as he saw sixteen more bombers diving in on the _Defiance._ "Rogues and Black Widows—intercept those bombers! We can't let them get the _Defiance!"_

"We're too far out of position," Hawk countered. "We can't get there in time. Let the interceptors get'em, and let's get those bastards that waxed the _Bradshaw."_

Wedge checked his sensors in disbelief. "What interceptors? All the _Defiance_ has guarding it are a squadron of E-wings and A-wings each. How are they going to stop sixtee—"

Wedge's words were drown out by a quickly growing roar. He glanced to his aft and instinctively ducked as a strangely-shaped fighter shot by, riding a screaming solid rocket booster. He vaguely remembered the craft being called a "Wasp" as he counted the glowing contrails. 32; two Confederation squadrons of advanced interceptors were bearing down on half as many decade-old torpedo bombers, which were already being harassed by the determined New Republic pilots. The Wasps' rockets burned out 2,000 klicks behind the inbound Kilrathi craft...

KF-200 PAKTAHN 110  
1439 HOURS (CST)

A feral predator's grin worked its way across Shintahr Nak'Kahn _nar_ Ragitagha's face as he counted out the lock-time for his torpedoes. With two eights of bombers, the destruction of this "New Republic" ship was assured. It was obvious that the weapons on the star cruiser were meant for capship battles, as his slow, unwieldy bombers easily evaded the deadly red and blue blasts, and despite the number of small fighters harassing his squadrons, their light armament was little threat to his craft.

He checked his time. Four seconds until the launching of 96 torpedoes and the annihilation of the ship. Three... Two... A Kilrathi pilot's death cry filled the comm channel, followed quickly by others. Nak'Kahn looked up to see his port wingman take a massive cluster of missiles that tore the bomber apart before it even had a chance to explode. At the same time, his own lock warning alarm sounded. He looked to his aft and saw over a dozen missiles swarming in at point-blank range. Nak'Kahn turned back to the cruiser and ignited his afterburners to give him the extra second he needed.

He pulled his trigger as the first missile slammed into his shields...

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
1440 HOURS (CST)

The bridge was filled with cheering as the torpedo bombers disintegrated under the massed firepower of the new F-110A Wasp-class interceptors. The cheering quickly died off though, as the sensors officer made an urgent announcement, "Sir, six torpedoes inbound! Fighters attempting to intercept!"

Leia hugged her brother as she watched death approach. Outside the _Defiance_, the A-wings, E-wings, and Wasps were firing everything they had at the six ship-killers rapidly speeding toward their target. Two torpedoes died quickly under the guns of the Wasps, and another was destroyed by a lucky shot from an E-wing. An A-wing, with all energy shifted to engines and running on full afterburners, darted into the trailing torpedo, destroying it and immolating the small interceptor and its selfless pilot.

The last two torpedoes passed through the _Defiance_'s shields and slammed into its hull. The multi-megaton explosions rocked the ship as they tore deep into the hull. Armor peeled off and blew away like dry leaves. Crewmen were vaporized as bulkheads were ruptured and deck after deck was exposed to the explosion's fiery tendrils.

There was chaos amidst the bridge as the crew tried to handle the incredible level of damage and number of casualties. "Admiral!" a voice cried out. "We've lost our starboard shields! Hull breaches from decks seven through 43, sections 15 to 36. Hull integrity is down to 67 percent. Three turbolaser batteries and two ion cannons were destroyed. Casualties unknown but estimated at over 700."

"Helm, get us out of the combat zone," ordered Admiral Ackbar. "We cannot continue to engage in combat until our shields are restored. Communications! Contact the _Midway_." He waited the painful few seconds for the connection to be made.

Finally, Blair's holographic image appeared. "Commodore Blair. We have sustained two torpedo hits and have suffered massive damage. Our starboard shields are down. We are disengaging until we can restore them."

Blair's heart sank. The powerful New Republic warship's superior firepower was central to the defensive strategy. Now, the _Defiance_ was crippled in the first hour of combat. "Acknowledged, Admiral. Our interceptors will cover your withdrawal. We're going to engage their lighter vessels, destroy as many as we can before they overrun our position. Good luck."

Ackbar nodded thoughtfully. "May the Force be with you."

Aboard the _Midway,_ Blair nodded his thanks, _"Midway_ out." He turned to Captain Wilford as the Admiral's image wavered and disappeared.

Wilford smiled grimly. "The fleet's formed up, and all our fighters have been launched. Some fighters from Confed HQ over at Jupiter-1 have joined up with us, as have their remaining cruisers and destroyers. The enemy fleet, less the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, the Hakaga, and a number of Kilrathi ships flanking it, are moving to engage us. The others..." Wilford trailed off, as if not saying it would mean it wasn't so. "They're heading for the base. HQ is evacuating as we speak, but they can't get everyone out, and they won't be able to hold out against that kind of firepower."

_Damn it,_ Blair thought, _damn it all._ "Well, we'll just have to buy them some time. Have all our artillery cruisers move to engage their cruisers. Detail four Murphys to the _Intrepid,_ six to the _Defiance_, and eight around the _Midway_. The rest are to advance and cover the Plunketts. All fighters are to engage the oncoming ships and fighters. We'll hit their light ships, then go after their super-ships."

"Aye aye, sir," Wilford replied. He turned to the communications station. "You heard the Commodore. Send those orders."

"Yessir!" The comm officer turned to his station and began sending the orders.

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
1445 HOURS (CST)

Grand Moff Jhediah smiled as the battle unfolded. He had expected the Confederation fleet to rally around their base, where the combined fleet would be able to corner them and destroy their fleet in detail.

He hadn't thought that they would leave their base open to attack so that they could engage the fleet without the interference of the _Vacillator_ and _Havahn ras Sivar._ Oh well, if they were willing to let their base die, he wouldn't argue with them.

"Admiral Güthrig, how long until we are within range of their base?" 

The Admiral turned to face him. "Ten minutes. Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki has suggested that we destroy the base with a cloaking Capital Ship Missile. He says that with the power of the missile, only one will be needed."

"Very well, if the Kilrathi want to destroy the base, then let them do it." Jhediah waved his hand as if it were no matter. It wasn't. "And if the Confederation wants to stay here and tangle with the fleet, then they can do it while we proceed on to Earth. Let the Kilrathi know they have the greenlight."

"Yessir," Güthrig said, smiling. Quickly locating one of the senior comm officers, Ensign Danaaris, he gave a nod in his direction. "You heard the Grand Moff, Ensign."

The _Vacillator_'s drive plumes' glow increased as it and the _Havahn ras Sivar,_ with its escorts, steadily increased to flank speed. Ahead of them, the Confederation Headquarters Starbase desperately strove to evacuate as many personnel as they could.

TCS _MIDWAY;_ FLIGHT DECK  
1448 HOURS (CST)

Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley was both ecstatic and melancholy as he let Rachel's techs tend to his damaged Vampire fighter, walking toward the gathering. He had finally eclipsed the century mark, but the losses among the pilots had been horrific. The New Republic had lost two squadrons destroyed totally, while the Terrans had suffered in the same proportions. Commander Drake had called for a meeting of all surviving line officers, squadron and wing commanders, and it was Hawk's job to ensure that all the visiting craft had places to wait. Over in a far corner of the flight deck were the New Republic forces, two X-wings, three K-wings, two E-wings, and a B-wing. Elsewhere were the various make and model Confed, Landreich, and UBW forces. Suddenly, the air was rent by the warning klaxon that meant clear the deck. Everyone took off for the exits, and Hawk made his way to PriFly. Once there, he immediately accosted the Flight Officer.

"Just what the hell is going on here? Who the hell is landing that requires a full deck evac?" The Flight Officer pointed at his screen and Hawk leaned in for a closer look. The MFD scanners showed that 28 craft were inbound from Earth, the visual VDUs showing these 28 fighters from a chase camera view. They were a design that Hawk hadn't seen in decades. Their IFF called them Morningstar IIs. Mechanicals showed that they had six guns and 20 missiles, to which Hawk whistled. Their moderate flight performance was now explained. These fighters were loaded for bear, and would be looking for Cats. The comm unit crackled.

The Flight Officer keyed his comlink unit._ "Midway_ Control, this is Joker 201. We are clear and waiting for landing confirmation."

"Joker 201, _Midway_ Control. Call the ball, and welcome aboard." The flight deck's sheer size allowed the force to land fighters eight at a time. Once all fighters were down, the magcon bubble was restored, and atmosphere pumped back into the flight deck. The canopies came up, and pilots began disembarking and forming into squadrons. By the time Hawk made it down to the flight deck, everyone was formed up. He ran up to the highest ranking officer he could find, a bird colonel, and to his surprise the other colonel saluted first.

"Colonel Manley, I am Colonel Von Tirpitz, Wing Commander of the 23rd Light Bombing Tactical Fighter Wing." Dressed in the uniform of a TCSF colonel, the stranger was a good 6'5" in height, probably around 200 pounds. Patches denoting membership in both the Confed Space Force, UBW Space Force, and TCIS Intelligence adorned his shoulders. His chest was covered in medals and ribbons, and his nameplate read "Von Tirpitz, Wilhelm." He was of good Bavarian stock, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled appearance. "We understand that you guys need some help. We're it."

Hawk looked over the assembled officers in disbelief. New fighters or not, there was no way forty-eight pilots could make much of a difference in the _Midway_'s three fighter wings. But he had his orders to get all command level officers to Commander Drake. He saluted Tirpitz in turn. "Welcome aboard, Colonel Tirpitz," he said. "Our Commander-Air-Group, Commander Drake has ordered a meeting of all command-level officers, so if you will please follow me." He turned and headed for the hatch. Tirpitz, and five of his officers followed suit, while the rest of the pilots headed back to their fighters to supervise their maintenance.

TCS _MIDWAY;_ CIC  
1450 HOURS (CST)

"All right, people, settle down," spoke Commander Patricia Drake, the megacarrier's CAG, as the men and women of various allegiances began filing in. "We have a lot to do, and probably not a lot of time to do it. First of all, I want to welcome Colonel Tirpitz and his crew to our air group. Some of you UBW folks may remember them from the Alcor debacle. They were flying Banshees at the time, and were decimated by the Imperial craft. Now they're back, and flying a rather nice new fighter. This, is a F/A-X Morningstar Mark II, the newest attack fighter in the Confed inventory but currently only in the prototype stage." As Drake spoke, the holoprojector behind her whirred to life, and displayed the image of a fighter as yet unseen by the armed forces. "A single Morningstar is armed with two lasers, two fusion cannons, two Reaper cannons, and a single Mace explosive/mine. As for missiles, they are armed with four Pilum Friend-or-Foe missiles on semi-recessed hardpoints, four trackers, and twelve Dumbfires slung under the wings. These are used to brute force shatter the target's shields, allowing heavier bombers to deliver their payloads straight to the hull."

A Border Worlder lieutenant spoke up from his seat among the fellow UBW and FRLN officers, one formerly of the BWS _Princeton._ "Same tactic we used against the Cat Dreadnought at Alcor." Many officers turned to acknowledge the bravery and sacrifice he and his squadron had made. Tirpitz just looked straight at him without blinking. The man returned the stare with a nod. "And I remember you and your squadron, Colonel Tirpitz. You guys blew away five cruisers and saved the _Zephyr_'s butt. Thanks."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Tirpitz spoke, nodding. "For any one of you Border Worlders that might be antsy about have a Confed Intell officer as one of your ACAGs, let me say this—I was part of the Free Corps, was part of Project Goliath and the Ragark Campaign, and was involved in the clean-up following the Incident.' Any questions so far?" He raked the audience with his gaze. There were no questions, so he turned back to Drake.

She took a breath and continued. "During the first assault, we learned that we need serious coordination to defeat these guys. Therefore, we are regrouping our flight wings to refine our attack style. Colonel Manley, your squadron will continue to fly in tandem with Rogue Squadron, and I am adding the New Republic's other X-wing squadron to your group, as well as a Vampire squadron. You will be designated Red Group, and will act as aggressive escort, taking out targets of opportunity. Speaking of which... General Antilles, where is your other X-wing commander? He seems to have gone missing." Wedge looked around in alarm. She was indeed right. He started to turn crimson, but was saved by the door opening, and the entering officer offered up his apology.

"General Antilles is not at fault, Commander. I just had to get out of that disguise. Humans are definitely not made to masquerade as Quarren." Brigadier General Garik "Face" Loran retook his seat next to an amazed Wedge. "Wraith Squadron is good to go." Wedge turned to Face, and gave him a back-slapping hug.

"Face!" he exclaimed. "Where were you hiding on the _Defiance,_ and where have you been for the last seventeen years?"

Loren gave a chuckle. "First, I haven't been on the _Defiance,_ I've been on the _Liberator. _Second, I've been working for Cracken. We mainly stayed out on the rim, battling splinter Imperial Groups. It's amazing how many of us are still around. Kell and Tyria are married, Runt and Piggy are still around, and Shalla... well, Shalla is still kicking all of us around a training room."

"What about Dia and Elessar?" Face's face pained momentarily, then affected a blank look Wedge knew to be false.

"Elessar died in an assault on a Ssi-Ruuvi stronghold. Dia was, last I knew before the jump, in a hospital on Coruscant. She was hurt real bad in a fight with some pirates. Hey, how's Donos doing?"

"Myn retired as a Major right around the time of the Surrender, and is married on Corellia to Kirney Slane." Face genuinely smiled.

"Hey, I guess things do come out right in the end." Wedge looked up. "Er... I'm sorry, Commander Drake. Please continue."

Drake gave an exasperated sigh. "Now that the reunion is over, we can get on with the meeting. General Horton Salm will lead the heavy bomber's from his K-wing, comprised of our Devastator squadrons, his Defender Wing, and the UBW/Landreich torpedo vessels." Salm rose and gave a cursory nod. "General Edor Crespin will lead fighter cover with his E-wings and our fighter squadrons. And Colonel Tirpitz will lead the first wave, comprised of the 23rd, the NR Screaming Wookiee Squadron, and the VF-27 Shadows,' with Major Richthofen of the VF-14 Talons' as escort commander for that group. Any questions?" There were none. "Then I turn this briefing over to Colonel Loran for a briefing on who we are facing out there."

Face stood and took the podium. He began his speech solemnly, "Greetings. I am Brigadier General Garik Face' Loran of New Republic Intelligence Command. My job today is to bring you all up to date on the various personas and craft employed by the Third Imperium. I'll start with the craft first." He went on to compare an MC-120 Star Cruiser, a soon-to-be-seen in the New Republic MC Battle Cruiser, a Sovereign-class SSD, and an Eclipse-class SSD to the _Vacillator_ before the view changed to that of a fighter. "This is what some of you have already encountered. It is the XG-2 Devastator-class Assault Missile Boat, also known as the Mark Three B. It was produced in limited numbers by the Empire before Endor, and its designs were sealed away in the computer archives of most of the fleet command ships. It has only one permutation, which carries one laser, a beam weapon, 40 Advanced Concussion Missiles, and can carry either 40 more missiles, 30 Advanced Proton Torpedoes, 20 Heavy Rockets, or 10 Space Bombs. It is equipped with the SLAM overdrive system, which works much like an afterburner for short periods of time. Lately, Intelligence has reported that the SLAMs have been largely replaced or supplemented by Kilrathi-style afterburners. Like I said, this is the only variant you will face, so stay away from its missiles and you'll do fine."

The young Border Worlder from before raised his hand. "Not true, sir," he spoke. "When we were at Alcor, I dogfought a Devastator that carried two lasers and two ion cannons, as well as everything else."

Face narrowed his eyes. "Was there anything else about that craft you remember?"

"Yeah... it had this weird red and black paint scheme, and I think the number of kill marks on the side. If they're true, means that this pilot had gotten more kills than General Antilles."

Face both paled and gave a sigh of relief at the same time. "You, Lieutenant, are a lucky man. And useful, as you launched me straight into the personnel section of this briefing. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Imperial Flight General Maarek Stele, attainer of the Emperor's Will, and a 22-year veteran of this war." The holoprojector displayed a standard Imperial Data File holo of a young man. "He was taken off his homeworld of Kuan shortly before Endor, and received pilot training quickly enough to participate in the Imperial mop-up following Hoth. He has served the empire with distinction since then, and personally saved the Emperor's life at least twice. He has also served just about every major fleet commander since Endor, including Isard, Zsinj, and Thrawn. In fact, he had a special relationship with Thrawn. Whenever Thrawn needed something done, Stele did it. During the appearances of the cloned Emperor, Stele and various other hot-shot Imperial pilots served in Omega Squadron, the Emperor's personal bodyguards. Most of the squadron was destroyed at Onderon, with him and two others surviving. Let me give you this piece of advice, people. Do _not_ attack him with anything less than a full squadron. He is that good." Face let that sink in before continuing, which it did until Face ran out of info.

Commander Drake stood back up, her gaze sweeping the CIC. "You all have your orders. Get to it, people."

TCS _INTREPID; _BRIDGE  
1454 HOURS (CST)

The bridge of the TCS _Intrepid_—once the BWS _Intrepid_, and the TCS _Delphi_ before that—was lit with the red flashing of the constantly firing laser turrets. Either intercepting an enemy fighter or harassing a distant enemy ship, they never stopped firing for more than a couple of seconds.

Captain Tamara "Panther" Farnsworth stood in the middle of the infamous Durango-class heavy destroyer's bridge, giving the occasional order. She turned to the young baby-faced ensign at the communications station, "Get me a link to Commodore Blair." A few seconds later, she stood before the holographic image of her friend and one-time significant other at the Academy after the Black Lance unpleasantness. "Chris, are we going to do anything about their attack on HQ?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do. We have to take care of this fleet first."

"I understand." Panther was frowning. If Confed lost that base, it would be a crippling blow. "Well, when you decide how you're going to get them back for it, let me know," she said with suppressed rage.

CONFEDERATION HQ STARBASE  
JUPITER ORBIT  
1455 HOURS (CST)

The command crew in the stations operations center watched the shuttles race for the relative safety of the civilian war museum orbiting the ringed gas-giant Saturn. They would try to start up the old Ranger-class light carrier TCS _Victory,_ on display there. While it carried no munitions, fighters, or fighter fuel, its reactors and engines were still in working order, and its laser turrets were in prime condition, if a bit dusty. While they might be able to make a difference later, the base's remaining crew was looking at combat now.

In the main viewscreen, they watched the SSD and Kilrathi counterparts approach to within gunnery range. Commander Henry O'Neil smiled. The Cats and these new Imps were about to see the folly in attacking Confed HQ. "Comm, are the fighters deployed?"

"Yessir!"

"Guns, confirm targets in range."

"Confirmed, sir."

"Comm, send to bombers: concentrate attack on that Super Star Destroyer, and send to fighters: squadron leaders engage freely. Guns," he said, addressing the gunnery control officer in the age-old tradition, "concentrate all firepower on the SSD, all others, fire at will." O'Neil sighed, having given the orders, he was almost superfluous.

_Cry havoc! and let slip the dogs of war!_

Over two hundred fighters swirled around the huge superbase, afterburning toward their targets. The space between the base and the _Vacillator_ became a blinding crescendo of light and energy, as the base's turreted lasers, heavy particle cannon, and new Mark IV heavy plasma cannon opened fire. The tremendous energies slammed into the _Vacillator_'s shields remorselessly, causing them to flash and shimmer wildly.

The _Vacillator_ replied in kind, its turbolaser, and heavy turbolaser batteries firing quintets of incredibly powerful focused light into the superbase's shields, which flickered and held. The _Vacillator_ added its ion cannons and capital-scale concussion missiles to the fray. The blue ion cannon bolts sent actinic lightning arcing across the base's shields. The capital concussion missiles ceased firing as they couldn't survive the dense fire of the no-man's-land between the two combatants.

Neither side of the duel saw the Skipper Missile launch from the supercarrier. In fact, only one Confed pilot did. The one who was unlucky enough to be right in its path.

The tremendous matter/antimatter explosion swept out and destroyed over a dozen fighters on either side of the battle, and damaged a Fralthi II's shields.

KIS _VHAS'KARATH;_ FLAG BRIDGE  
JUPITER ORBIT; NEAR CONFEDERATION HQ STARBASE  
1459 HOURS (CST)

Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki let out a Kilrathi oath as the missile detonated only 2,000 klicks ahead of the _Havahn ras Sivar,_ damaging a heavy cruiser and destroying a number of fighters as well. He turned to Vharvek. "Tell the _Havahn ras Sivar_ they are to hold their fire. We don't want it to shoot itself down."

"And what of the station, my liege?" Vharvek asked respectfully.

"Tell this Grand Moff that he may have the... honor of destroying the Confederation Headquarters himself."

Vharvek smiled and bowed, "Of course, my liege."

_If these Imperials wanted to take on the superbase and its defenses in a broadside to broadside engagement, then they could reap the punishment for such an endeavor alone,_ Thokkarh thought. The Ultra-Long-Range Phased Photon-Cloak Torpedo, or "Skipper" Missile, would have worked, but the _Vacillator_ got too close. Now they were shooting it out with the only thing in the Sol System that rivaled its firepower, save for the Sol Station superbase around Earth itself, the Terrans' last line of defense. Now the fighting was so wild and clustered, it was likely that a fighter would collide with the missile accidentally, as one did just a few seconds ago.

_No, let the Grand Moff pay for his mistake..._

SSD _VACILLATOR_; BRIDGE  
1506 HOURS (CST)

The deck shuddered as the forward shields finally failed. Damage reports started coming in as the superbase's weaponry began ripping chunks out of the great starship's bow. Grand Moff Jhediah was filled with anger as his flagship was mauled. "Admiral Güthrig, where is that stealth missile the Kilrathi expressed such confidence in?"

Güthrig turned from the tactical plot, where he was directing the action against the Confederation fleet. "I believe that explosion we witnessed was it. But, perhaps we should ask the Baron."

"Quite," Jhediah replied tersely. He turned to the communications station in the operations recess in the floor of the bridge. "Get me Thokkarh _nar _Caxki. He has some explaining to do."

"Yessi..." The young officer trailed off. "Sir, there's a message coming in from the _Vhas'Karath._ They report that the fighting is too dense for their missiles to get through. They say that they're going to take up a picket position to shield us from fighter attack."

How very generous of them, Jhediah thought angrily. "Very well. Acknowledge their transmission. Güthrig, have all of our fighters concentrate their attacks on the base."

"Their shields are down!" came a cry from behind him.

Güthrig turned away from the holoplot, where tiny representations of starships and fighters were battering each other in a simulation of the very real hell that was slowly consuming the Confederation fleets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an oddly shaped ship, labeled as a Plunkett-class cruiser, glow brightly and wink out: another casualty in the most costly engagement he'd ever participated in. "Concentrate all firepower on their weapons systems," he said loudly but calmly, before moving back to the holoplot and issuing more orders. The fire from the superbase was already starting to thin out, as weapons turrets and emplacements were blown apart by the Super Star Destroyer's superior firepower. Hundreds of green and blue bolts caressed the base, encasing it in a cloud of vaporized armor. Around it, space had grown silent, as the defending fighters were quickly swept aside by the overwhelming numbers of TIEs and Kilrathi fighters. The weapons on the superbase quickly subsided, washed away in wave after wave of green death, or their power circuits blown-out from ion cannon discharges. The lights across the base's superstructure began flickering out randomly as the base began to die. The entire defense grid failed, shields went down, and yet the _Vacillator_ continued to fire, seemingly eager to punish the miscreant who had dared to hurt it. The base's death wasn't spectacular. There was no all-consuming fireball. A large section of structure, battered and twisted, finally just broke off and was pushed away by the impact of dozens upon dozens of turbolaser blasts. As the green beams focused on the center of the base, it just broke up. Chunks of superstructure were torn off, and small secondary explosions weakened the structure. Large plates of armor broke free and floated away. Atmosphere trailed from innumerable hull breaches, taking with it smaller debris, equipment, and bodies of those who couldn't be evacuated.

The great station shuddered once, as if a great beast was fighting to hold on to its last spark of like, and then it just came apart. Large rents formed all across the base. Faults that quickly grew larger. The base's sections then parted, leaving a drifting, broken hulk floating in the debris of its own destruction. Only then did the _Vacillator_'s arsenal finally cease fire, allowing both sides to witness the carnage it had wrought.

F-109A VAMPIRE 302  
1514 HOURS (CST)

Hawk, back in his repaired fighter, veered hard to starboard as the Missile Boat trailing him fired a pair of advanced concussion missiles. The missiles passed less than a meter from the edge of his shields. He cursed under his breath as the missiles began to arc around to make another run at his fighter. "Wedge! What's the burn time on these things?"

"Advanced Missiles? Twenty-five seconds," Wedge answered, his voice tense with the stress of combat.

"Damn it." Hawk pulled a tight corkscrew around the missiles and dropped a pair of decoy chaff. He sighed in relief as the lock warning light and alarm shut off. These new alien missiles had the longest flight times he had ever seen, and they were becoming notorious for ignoring decoys. The only thing that evened things out was the fact that the Imperial craft didn't seem to incorporate decoys themselves. Hawk pulled around and took the Missile Boat head to head. As soon as the craft was within range, he fired his full guns. The Imperial fighter came apart in a massive fireball as it's munitions detonated. He cleared the debris and found himself trailing another Vampire that was chasing down a TIE Interceptor.

"Hey, Hawk! Good of ya ta join me!" came the loud, raucous voice of the other pilot.

"Jammer, that you?"

"You bet. Just gimme a sec." The Vampire let loose with a full guns salvo. The Interceptor shattered from the impact of four tachyon bursts and a pair of particle beams. Hawk opened his mouth to congratulate him when he heard the deafening metallic howl of a cloaking device disengaging.

He saw it appear just behind Jammer's fighter. "Jammer! Look out!"

"Holy _shiii...!"_ Jammer's broadcast was cut short as nine tachyon beams slammed through his shields and vaporized most of his rear armor. The Vampire started to spin out of control as its port engines failed.

_"Shit!_ Hawk, help me!" Hawk targeted the Tarkhan and fired, as did the Tarkhan. _"Nooo!!!"_ Jammer's cry filled the channel as his fighter disintegrated under the incredible punishment.

"Damn you!" Hawk screamed. The Tarkhan veered off sharply and cloaked. "You son of a bitch! Get back here, you fucking coward! You pathetic excuse of a warrior! Is your _hrai_ as cowardly as you?! You disgraceful..." Hawk stopped and began evasive maneuvers as he heard a ship decloak behind him.

"So eager to die, hairless ape?" a gravely voice sounded over his communications channel. "Then I shall accommodate you. Prepare to die!"

As Hawk pulled off hard, he saw the markings on the fighter. The 41st Claw Squadron, made up of _Drakhai, _the elite of Kilrathi pilots. The Imperial Guard, formerly the elite in the service of the Emperor of Kilrah himself, while he was still alive. He knew he was in for a fight...

TCS _VISIGOTH;_ BRIDGE  
JUPITER ENGAGEMENT  
1520 HOURS (CST)

Captain Jace Reynard clenched his fists and teeth as the report of the loss of Confed HQ came in. Since he, as captain, couldn't shout out his anger, he satisfied himself with the expletives expressed by his XO. He was futilely trying to salvage what was becoming a massive furball with the Furballs. As the _Vacillator_ and its friends moved away from the main confrontation, the Kilrathi fleet had punch through Confed's formations. All hell broke lose.

Within the first fifteen minutes of combat, Confed had lost twelve destroyers, six cruisers, and a full fleet carrier. It was ironic, because, for a few minutes, it looked as if Confed had the advantage. The initial bomber assaults were repelled, the two Imperial Star Destroyers were successfully torpedoed for what little damage it caused them, and one of the Snakeirs had been badly damaged.

Then the Imperials played their wild card. The Missile Boats rocketed in like a bat out of hell. While the TIE Defenders and Robotics swamped the fighter cover, they used their advanced proton torpedoes to strip ships of their turrets, leaving them helpless before the bombers. Grikaths, Gorans, Paktahns, Vaktoth IIs, Zartoth EWs, and modified TIE Bombers that had been withheld in the previous battles then struck. While the TIE Bombers could only carry a scant three of a scaled-down version of the standard Torpedo, the element of surprise, as well as their ungodly agility sealed the fates of seven ships, including a Plunkett. Meanwhile, the aggressive tactics of the Kilrathi corvette skippers caused the Confederation fleet to scatter.

"Sir, I have the _Patton_ and the _Churchill._ They have entered formation with us. What are your orders?"

Captain Reynard looked up at his XO, Commander David Lewis. Lewis wasn't quite as upset as he had been a minute ago. "Get damage and fighter losses reports from both," Reynard said thoughtfully. "Also, how are our fighters holding out?"

"We..." Lewis paused and cleared his throat, "We have five Excaliburs, three Thunderbolts, six Tigersharks, and two Crossbows left. One Epee, too, if that counts."

Reynard grimaced. They'd lost well over half of their fighters, but their ship hadn't suffered the mauling so many others had. "See to those reports, please." The Captain took the moment to clear his thoughts while Lewis retrieved the information he'd asked for. Less than a minute later, his XO had returned. "Captain, the _Patton_ has lost all but two Excaliburs and eight Tigersharks. The _Churchill..._ hasn't any fighters left." Lewis let that sink in for a few seconds, waiting for the look of decision to mask his captain's face. Finally, he saw it: the look of grim determination of one who, while they may lose, is going to hurt and take with him as many enemies as possible on the way down. "What are we going to do, sir?" Lewis asked determinedly.

"Quite frankly, Commander, we're going to kick some Cat ass." Reynard turned to the rest of the bridge. "Conn! Set a course for that wounded Snakeir, flanking speed! Comm, let the others know what we are doing!" He turned to the WC. "Make sure those fighters we still have left stay with us! It is going to get nasty out there." He finally turned to Lieutenant Commander Diana Xavier. "Guns," he said with a predatory grin lighting his features that would make a Kilrathi's fur stand on end, "The safety is off. All turrets, fire at will. Make it messy for those bastards."

"Aye, sir!" she said cheerfully, but with a darkness in her eyes, and started giving orders over her headset. Reynard shuddered slightly as he got a small look at the darkness that can consume one's soul. He'd seen that happen so many times during the War. The pain, the anger, the fear, they slowly eat away at one's humanity until the poor soul becomes more bloodthirsty and ruthless than the most hardened Kilrathi. He'd seen it in his officers' eyes, superiors' eyes, and in the darkest days of the War, even his own. He could still feel it sometimes, in the late hours of the night, when all was dark and all there is are the voices of the past, calling to him, still gnawing at his soul. He was careful, because it could take even the best men. He'd known Admiral Geoff Tolwyn during the War, and sadly watched as the darkness took him. The Battle of Terra was a major factor, as was Tolwyn's anger at the seemingly stupid civilian government, but after the loss of the Behemoth... Reynard had seen him after that, when Tolwyn returned to Earth to stand for a hearing. Something had died in Tolwyn that day, and he never recovered from it.

Reynard never wanted to see that happen to another soul as long as he lived.

"Sir," Commander Lewis said. He waited for Reynard to respond before continuing. "Sir, we're all on course. ETA to interception is two minutes. We've also contacted the _Midway_ and Commodore Blair wishes us luck."

"Good. How long until we reach maximum gunnery range?"

"One minute and thirty seconds before interception."

"Very well." Captain Reynard smiled as he walked back to his command chair and sat down.

The minute and a half ride to the Snakeir was nerve wracking. It was a running battle the whole way. Numerous corvettes tried to intercept and even ram them as they rocketed through the Kilrathi formations.

Meanwhile, the badly outnumbered and outclassed fighter escort tried to fend off the swarming enemy fighters. Only two Excaliburs and four Tigersharks survived the onslaught, and the _Patton_ lost its lower triple heavy particle cannon turret to a torpedo, while all three cruisers lost several laser turrets each. Strangely, as they approached firing range, the TIE Interceptors, TIE Bombers, and most of the Kilrathi fighters were recalled to land on their ships.

"Sir, we're within firing range for our main guns, but the Cat ships are doing something weird," Lewis finally informed Captain Reynard.

"Guns, fire!" Reynard gave the order before turning to Lewis. "What are they doing?"

"They're lining up.."

"Firing all guns!" came the report from Lieutenant Commander Xavier, interrupting Lewis.

"Uh, all of their ships in the exact same direction and..."

There was a rumble throughout the ship as the triple plasma and two triple particle cannon turrets fired as one. The Captain and his XO watched the stream of huge pulses rushed towards their target. The Snakeir was as good as dead. Then, just before the first blasts hit, it lurched forward and vanished.

"What the hell?" Jace Reynard, David Lewis, Diana Xavier, and most of the bridge crews of all three cruisers cried out simultaneously. "Lieutenant Stevenson!" Reynard shouted to his sensors officer, "Where in the hell did that ship go?!"

"I'm not sure. The sensors don't know what to make of it, but it wasn't just the Snakeir, sir. Whatever happened, all those ships did it, including the Super Star Destroyer and Hakaga," Stevenson replied, worry causing his voice to waver slightly.

"Damn! Get the _Midway_ on the horn. We've got a lull, and I want to know what Blair wants to do with it."

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301  
1530 HOURS (CST)

Wedge recognized it for what it was as soon as he saw it. "Rogue Leader to _Defiance_. The enemy has performed a microjump. I repeat, they have performed a microjump, over." Wedge waited for what seemed forever for an answer, but it was really just a few seconds.

"Confirmed, Rogue Leader. Stand by for orders. _Defiance_ out."

"Great." Wedge keyed over to the Confed fighter frequency. "Hawk, you okay out there?" Wedge waited several seconds, but there was no reply. "Hawk, answer me. _Hawk!"_

The voice that replied was scratchy and filled with tension. "Hawk here. Wedge—that you?"

"Yes. What is your—"

"Get over here and help me. I've got a _Drakhai_ Tarkhan over here and I'm busted up pretty badly. Outta fuckin' missiles..." The comm fizzed with static as a grunt and a metallic clang signified a hit on Hawk's fighter. "Flashing my transponder. Hurry it up!"

Wedge reached the combat zone in time to see a Vampire take a direct hit from the Tarkhan's nine tachyon cannon. The beams punched through the fighter's shields and tore off the starboard engine nacelle. The Vampire immediately spun off to the side, out of control, its pilot screaming all the way. Wedge knew it wasn't Hawk; he just couldn't imagine him going out with a scream.

As Wedge moved to engage, an F-108A Panther-class fighter darted in, firing all its weapons. The Tarkhan autoslid, spinning around on its axis and fired once. The Panther caught the full brunt of the weapons. It exploded in a spectacular display of pyrotechnics. He's good, Wedge thought to himself, deciding to engage this pilot from maximum range. Wedge armed two advanced torpedoes. As he approached the fighter, a pair of Tigersharks tried to take it out. In a blur of motion, both were vaporized in just over a second. "That's it, no more games," Wedge thought out loud. He smiled as the targeting indicator turned red, a tone filling his cockpit. "Die furball." Wedge pulled the trigger.

Two projectiles rocketed away, streams of blue ions trailing them. The two missiles homed in on the Tarkhan, closing the distance in a couple of seconds. The Kilrathi pilot tried to cloak. His mistake. The Tarkhan's shields dropped as it cloaked, the same moment the two deadly missiles hit. The blast burned through the hapless ship's armor and bit deeply into its engines. The Tarkhan was skewed around by the force of the blast, pointing it straight at Wedge's X-wing. Wedge inhaled quickly, bracing himself for the blast.

He flinched as a blinding flash illuminated his cockpit. Wedge looked up, surprised that he was still alive, just in time to see a blackened and battered Vampire fly through the expanding debris and dust cloud.

"I see you really liked my new friend," a familiar voice sounded over the comm.

"Hawk. You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"Oh, I bet I could make a fair guess. Drinks are on me, when we get back. _If_ we get back."

"Wait a minute. Didn't you just save my life?"

"Yeah, but you save my ass first. But if you insist, you can buy the second round."

"It's a deal."

_"Midway_ to all fighters. Report back to your ships immediately. I repeat, report back to your ships."

"I guess we'll have to take a raincheck," Hawk said.

"Yeah, but we both have to survive this... and win."

"No problem."

The Imperial fleet had just jumped from Jupiter orbit to the asteroid belt. Yeah, no problem indeed.

TCS _RIGEL;_ BRIDGE  
1540 HOURS (CST)

Captain Harold Patterson's eyes narrowed as he watched the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet slowly move into the asteroid belt. The belt really wasn't that dense. Each asteroid and meteor was dozens to hundreds of kilometers apart. The dust between them was hard on shields and sensors, but the real worry was that each piece of debris was moving at a speeds around 18,000 miles per hour. At that speed, a 100-meter wide piece of rock would pulverize even the _Vacillator_. Okay, maybe not all of it, but it would be out of action for a long time, Patterson thought to himself.

The _Rigel_ had entered the asteroid belt running silent. They took up position behind an asteroid approaching the fleet to hide any stray signals, light, or movement. The Kilrathi and Imperials had no way of knowing they were there. Meanwhile, the _Rigel_ had prepped its special complement of cloaking fighters. Four squadrons of Excaliburs and two of modified Shrikes were prepping on the flight deck and slowly launching, hiding behind the asteroid, and cloaking.

The plan was simple. Ride the asteroid as close as possible. Deploy the fighters in strategic positions. 12 Excals to each Fralthra and each Snakeir, and the Shrikes would form up around the Fralthi II cruisers. Again, 12 to each. The _Rigel_ would close with and strike the Super Star Destroyer. They would close their ramscoops for better speed and acceleration and make a single combat pass, running for it before the enemy had a chance to react. As the CAP moved to attack the _Rigel,_ the fighters would decloak and decimate the Kilrathi escort ships.

That was the plan. Of course, once the attack was underway, Patterson was under no illusions that things weren't going to go to hell in a handbasket. In fact, he was counting on it. The more chaos, the better the chance that some of his people might survive to make it back to the fleet. And the better the chances to inflict heavier damage on the enemy. He was also preparing for the possibility that the _Rigel_ wouldn't be able to outrun its attackers. In that case, they would turn around, hit the SSD with their Phase-Transit Cannon again—a superweapon proven unstable in decades past mainly on Confederation-class dreadnoughts/heavy carriers—and try to ram their bridge tower, assuming they lived that long. "Sir, it's almost time," said the quiet voice of Commander Theodore Freemont, the _Rigel_'s first officer.

"I know," Patterson replied solemnly. "Is the cannon charged?"

"Yessir."

"Guns armed? Shields up?"

"Yessir, on both counts."

"Henweigh ready?"

"Yessi... Wait. What's a Henweigh?"

"About three or four pounds," Patterson said, smiling.

Freemont chuckled lightly, as did those members of the bridge crew close enough to overhear. Normally, such a breach of protocol was frowned upon in Confed, but things tend to loosen up when you're staring into the eyes of death.

"Okay, now that we've had out fun," Patterson said loudly, causing most everyone to jump, "let's go kick some Cat butt."

"Sitrep!" Patterson called out.

"Guns, aye!"

"Shields, aye!"

"Engineering, aye!"

"Sensors, aye!"

"Radio, aye!"

"Helm, aye!"

"ECM, aye!"

"All right, send to Colonel Ozwald: You are go for positioning."

"Sending. Colonel Ozwald replies affirmative. Will be in position in five minutes."

"Good. Engineering, give me every last microjoule you can out of those reactors. What can we get?"

"110 percent, sir."

"Give me 125 percent."

"Sir?"

"Just give it to me. You have five minutes."

"Aye, sir."

"Comm, what's the situation with the fleet?"

"They've recovered their fighters and are on their way here at flanking speed, scoops closed. The _Defiance_ will execute a microjump and arrive shortly ahead of them. Maybe in time to help us out."

"Good, Lieutenant. Guns, we're going to have to be really darned accurate on this one. No second chances, we've got to take out that rear set of main engines on the first pass. There won't be time for a second one."

"Aye, sir. I've spent the last ten minutes fine-tuning calibration myself. If we aim for it, we'll hit it."

"Good. Commander, time?"

"Three minutes and counting."

Those were the most nerve-wracking three minutes in Patterson's entire career. At T-30 seconds, the report came in from engineering. 125 percent on the reactor possible, but only for a few minutes at most, before the reactor started to overload. That was the nice way of saying that they'd explode. "Sir, all fighters should be in position now."

"Status on PTC?"

"Fully charged and operational."

"Good. Maneuvering thrusters, take us out from behind this rock and point us at that behemoth's tailpipes."

"Yes, sir!" the young helm officer replied. There was a slight shift as the ship gently maneuvered into position. "Ready, sir!"

"Go!" was the one word command that started everything. Everyone was pressed into their seats as the ship accelerated without the drag of the powerful electromagnetic ramscoops. The _Rigel_ shot off like a rocket.

_"Yeee-hawww!"_ someone shouted above the noise of the straining engines and shuddering hull. There was too much noise for Patterson to tell who it was.

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
1548 HOURS (CST)

"Admiral Güthrig!" a frantic shout came from the crewpit. "Unknown class vessel approaching."

"What?" Güthrig said as he walked down the stairs to the crewpit. He looked over the aging officer's shoulder. "Where?"

"There, sir," the Lieutenant said, hurriedly pointing to a blip on the screen.

"How can you tell? The sensors aren't picking up any ship, just that ion cloud..." Güthrig trailed off. That was why it was an unidentified ship. Aside from the light energy readings of shields and the ion trail, the ship was completely undetectable. "What in the name of...?" Güthrig looked to a small viewscreen. "Visual!" A second later he saw it, a bright ion cloud mostly blocked out by a black angular nothing. He turned to the gunnery officer, sitting a short distance away. "Lock on to that... thing's location and fire. All guns."

"Sir, I think you should see this," the senior sensor officer said, sounding rattled.

"What?" Güthrig asked.

"A massive energy spike. I think it's going to fire."

On the visual, a small glowing circle appeared and quickly got brighter in the lower section of the dark shape. Güthrig's eyes widened with a hint of panic. "I said fire. I meant _now."_

"Yes, sir, but I can get a lock. Sensors won't—"

"Then aim visually. Now is not the time to decide to be incompetent."

"Sir!" the sensor officer shouted as the glow quickly grew blindingly bright, even on the small viewscreen. "Oh no..."

The TCS _Rigel_ approached at over two thousand KPS. The CAP didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of intercepting them. The Phase-Transit Cannon glowed impossibly bright, then flared, unleashing the most powerful weapon in space combat short of the Behemoth cannon. The ball of blue-white crackling energy fairly threw itself out of the cannon's barrel at the _Vacillator_, as if eager to visit its ungodly wrath upon its victims.

The gunner's aim was true, and the ball of phased energy tore through the _Vacillator_'s shields like they weren't even there. It struck home on the center array's port engine, tearing through it, the next, and most of the way through the starboard of the three before stopping. But that was only the start. The combustion chambers and fuel feeds breached, the engines' powerful reactions were unleashed. The three engines exploded as one. The tremendous red and white fireball reached over two kilometers in radius. Much of the underside of the _Vacillator_'s rear armor was sheared off, or vaporized completely. Three quarters of the aft extension was torn off and shattered from the force of the blast, obliterating over a kilometer of superstructure. The blast wave raced out, knocking the lighter starships off-course and crushing the rear CAP like so many insects.

The _Vacillator_ itself visually lurched forward over two hundred meters and more than ten degrees negative pitch. Its rear shields failed instantly, and, possibly for the first time in history, nearly the entire crew of a Super Star Destroyer was knocked off their feet and out of their seats and bunks by a single hit.

But the _Rigel_ wasn't done. As the fireball started to clear, it shot by underneath the rear superstructure, AMGs and lasers blazing, further maiming the immense starship, though very little in comparison to what they had just done. But it was enough to knock out the great ship's hyperdrive. The _Rigel_ continued away from the fleet completely unmolested, it's mission far more successful than Patterson's wildest projections. Behind the old Fralthra cruisers, a Fralthi II cruiser, and the Snakeir-class carriers, the fighters decloaked...

KIS _VHAS'KARATH;_ FLAG BRIDGE  
1548 HOURS (CST)

Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki snarled and pounded his fist on his command chair. "How dare you blame this on me, human!" Thokkarh howled in rage at Jhediah's holographic image, the smoke-filled and fire blackened bridge of the _Vacillator_ showing in the background. "Whose fighters were on patrol, _hmmm?_ What of your powerful sensors and great weapons? You gave us claims of such superiority, but what of it? You first suffered heavy casualties to the Border Worlders, then, instead of letting us just missile the Confederation Headquarters from long range, you closed in so that a missile wouldn't make it past the gunfire. Now, your sensors cannot even detect a single heavy carrier, on a direct attack, heading at full speed?"

"Watch your tongue, Baron," Jhediah coldly admonished. His ship had suffered sever internal damage as well as that which was clearly externally visible. Power failures and fluctuations caused emergency hatches to fail to close and caused many additional casualties. Fires had swept across many aft compartments and numerous power conduits exploded. The single hit had caused nearly 17,000 casualties. The Kilrathi had lost almost as heavily, but it wasn't as bad a blow. Not to Jhediah, anyway.

For the first time in his young life, the Grand Moff was feeling his own mortality, as his ship twisted, lurched, and shuddered. For a short moment, he'd known fear. "I believe you yourself failed to protect your own ships from attack."

Thokkarh extended and retracted his claws instinctively, wishing nothing more than to rip this insolent Terran cubling's throat out. "We warned you about the Rigel-class carriers in our information exchange." Yes, the hated Rigel-class Black Warship had reportedly destroyed the KIS _Xy'lhax_ Hakaga of the Eighth Fleet of the Imperial Claw at Cynium the past year. "We gave you a considerable amount of data on the class, yet it snuck up to nearly point-blank range," the Baron said, treading a little more carefully now, reigning in his rage. Jhediah cut the link from his end.

That _harakh_ would pay for his insolence. If Thokkarh was unable to deliver it himself, the Terrans would take care of it. They had already shown that they considered the _Vacillator_ a stronger threat than their Hakaga. And they would kill it first, at this rate, but maybe, just maybe, the Imperials might cause enough damage to allow Thokkarh to deliver their vengeance on the Terrans' homeworld. The thought lightened his mood slightly, but it still didn't help when he thought of the stupid losses during the Humans' raid. Both Frathras, one Snakeir-class carrier, with heavy damage to the other, and severe damage to an already battered Fralthi II.

It had been a good plan though. One worthy of a warrior. They had stalked their prey and struck with the skill of a predator. Thokkarh hoped he would get the chance to face that ship again. It would be a victory worthy of honor, to face in combat and destroy a brother ship—Kilrathi refer to ships as male, instead of female—of the infamous Black Warship. The Black Warship, the TCS _Orion,_ had marauded behind Kilrathi lines for five solid years, and then escaped back to Terran Space. No one really knew what happened to it after that, it just disappeared. The Terrans didn't even talk about it anymore...

"Vharvek," Thokkarh addressed his _Tho'reari,_ the anger finally seeping out of his voice now that he no longer had to put up with Jhediah's arrogance, "how long until our bombardment run on the fourth planet? Mars, I believe the Terrans call it."

"Correct, my liege. Three hours now, since damage to several of our ships and especially to the _Vacillator_ has slowed us considerably. Also, projections show that if the Confederation continues to proceed as it is, with closed ramscoops, they will intercept us shortly after we arrive above Mars," Vharvek replied.

"Then we will just have to perform another microjump' to Earth, then."

"My liege, that distance is far below the minimum required for that maneuver, according to the Imperial Terrans. Also, the _Vacillator_'s Hyperdrive was damaged in the attack and is inoperable."

"Hmmm. Very well. Vharvek, have our ships take the opportunity to make repairs en route. I have a transmission to make."

"My liege?"

"It seems we're running low on escort vessels," Thokkarh said, chuckling lightly. _Soon, _he thought, soon _we will flood our guts with the liquid warmth of the _sckviska_ I have been saving for our moment of glorious victory. Yes, we shall avenge Kilrah_ _and we shall crush these Imperials and the Terrans, after they have drained each other's blood. After all, is it not the weak prey that the vigilant predator brings down...?_

FRLS _MJOLLNIR;_ BRIDGE  
THE SECOND BATTLE OF SIRIUS  
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1557 HOURS (CST)

Over the nearly four hours of grueling combat, Rear Admiral Jason "Bear" Bondarevsky had watched some of the most amazing combat in his entire life. The first thing, was Confederation and Border Worlds Union navies standing side by side in the pounding match that was bound to eventually be called the Battle of Sirius. The VF-84 "Liberators," VF-401 "Shadow Cats," VF-12 "Flying Eyes," and the VF-16 "Stingers" of the Bhantkara-class _Mjollnir_ and CVE-class _Independence_ were doing good for themselves, fighting every bit as hard as they had during Project Goliath and Ragark. It hadn't lasted, but it had been a sight.

Now, a strange match-up had occurred. The _McKinley_ and _St. Helens,_ being the dreadnoughts they were in function, had taken a dozen Plunkett-class artillery cruisers and tore a line through the combined fleet to the Kilrathi Dreadnought, where Eisen began his "shit kicking contest."

The rest of the arty cruisers, with the new Murphys as backup, began slugging it out with the heavy Imperial ships, swatting away the corvettes that tried futilely to deter them. They quickly destroyed two light destroyers and finally managed to pulverize a Star Destroyer, but lost five artillery cruisers and nine Murphys in exchange. The Border Worlders, in their typical "balls to the wall" fighting style had moved everything with guns in on the Victory Star Destroyer, ripping it to pieces in minutes. The order of battle quickly changed after that. The UBW forces, and almost half the Murphys fell back to cover the carriers. Meanwhile, the rest of Confed's forces formed up and began slugging it out with the Dreadnought.

It had proceeded that way for the last tree hours. The combined Confed, UBW, and Landreich fighters trying to handle the unbelievable number of Imperial and Kilrathi fighters. And, while a Dreadnought could hold an unholy number of Kilrathi fighters, a TIE Robotic is less than one sixth the size of an average Kilrathi fighter. Do the math.

Slowly, the fighters and escorts of the Sirius Taskforce began to whittle the number of fighters down to something more manageable. Finally, Eisen gave the order that everyone had been waiting for, "All Devastator squadrons, attack the rear of that Dreadnought. Banshees and Bearcats, cover them. All others, you're going to have to make up the slack while they hit'em. Good luck and God speed." The four squadrons, of 16 Devastators each, from each Vesuvius (a total of 8 squadrons) had held back with the carriers for the moment to strike, and to supply point defense with their five turreted lasers each. Now, they along side every Banshee and Bearcat in the fleet shot forward on afterburners, blasting a path with their heavy plasma cannon. Within minutes, they reached the aft of the great monster. As their cover held the fighters at bay, they fired their plasma cannon while waiting for their light torpedo locks. Normally, they would have used heavy torpedoes, but light torpedoes lock twice as quickly (and in a torpedo run, speed is life), do almost two-thirds the damage, and, with 128 bombers, the difference in damage didn't really mater that much.

Five seconds passed, in which the Devastators had all fired three plasma shots each, knocking down the shields and ripping the stern to shreds, and achieved a torpedo lock. 128 thumbs depressed triggers simultaneously. 128 light torpedoes streaked into the engines of the Kilrathi behemoth. And hundreds of fighters hit maximum afterburners to get away from the coming blast.

From his vantage point, Bear could see the Confederation capital ships veering away from the dreadnought at their incredible speeds. To the Dreadnought's rear, he saw the fighters' engines glow as they ran for safety. There was a terrific flash from the Dreadnought's aft as the torpedoes detonated. Then all of space was a blinding glare as the monolithic ship's engines and primary generators went supercritical and detonated. In an instant, five kilometers of durasteel armor, structure, bulkheads, and crew, were vaporized. The multicolor cloud of dust and gasses expanded throughout the fleet. The dreadnought was still firing.

"That should have killed it..." _Damn it!_ Bear thought, then demanding, "What's the status of that ship?"

"Shields down, sir. Structural integrity at 45 percent. Primary power down. Power levels are low for auxiliary power, perhaps they are on emergency batteries. Severe hull breaches and almost half of the remaining ship is exposed to vacuum. I think the only reason the whole thing didn't go up was that all of their engines didn't blow."

"What?"

"Over a quarter of their engines were inoperable due to previous battle damage."

"How annoyingly ironic. The same damage that gives us time to prepare for them saves their ship. Well, any ideas...?" Bear quickly spun around to the young lieutenant at communications, "Get me Eisen! I know how to finish that thing off."

TCS _ST.HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
1612 HOURS (CST)

Eisen was smiling slightly when Bear's holographic image appeared. "Mister Rollins here says that you know how to shut this blasted ship up. Please tell me that's not just rumor mill jabber."

Bear smiled. "No, Bill, it's not. Back when we first recommissioned the _Mjollnir,_ we had to cripple one of those monsters. I'll tell you the story again later, but remember what I said about the capital ship missile tubes?"

Eisen, thought for a second, then his smile increased appreciably. "Yes, I do. Thanks, Bear. Eisen out."

"Good luck," Bondarevsky wished his friend quietly.

It wasn't necessary. Five minutes later, the guns of the _St. Helens_ and _McKinley_ breached the Capship missile magazine in the bow of the ship, blowing it to kingdom come. The blast cracked the remaining hull like an eggshell. The great monstrosity quickly broke up. All that was left was a huge debris field, not too unlike the one now orbiting Jupiter.

Eisen, as well as everyone else in every Terran ship, was smiling. Some were even whooping and hollering, but this was mostly on Border Worlds Union and Landreich ships. The Dreadnought was dead, and soon, the taskforces' firepower would bring this arm of the offensive to heel. Victory was near.

As the fleet formed up and again moved to finish the fleet with their now superior firepower, the Kilrathi ships: both Fralthi II cruisers, the eight light destroyers, and all 29 remaining corvettes lurched forward, shimmered, and vanished, leaving the four ISD2s and the single Lancer alone. The fleet moved quickly and destroyed the Lancer and another Imperial II Star Destroyer before they too shimmered and disappeared into hyperspace.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ BRIDGE  
1630 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Craig Jamison let out a few choice expletives when the Imperial remnants vanished.

"Where did they go?" he inquired. "Navigation, what was their heading? Also, Communications, contact Sol System ISS/InSys Militia defense forces. When they reported contact, they didn't mention that Interdictor, and it wasn't here. See if it's been accounted for. If not, then we've got a loose cannon on our hands."

PLANET MARS; MARS HOMEGUARD AEROSPACE DEFENSE BASE  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1800 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris paused to look up at her twelve-year-old Excalibur Mk1. The old fighter dated back to the first Terran-Kilrathi War, its name forever immortalized as the fighter Chris Blair did the Kilrah run in. She'd been surprised when she was first assigned the ancient bird. While she'd been slightly insulted at being assigned such an aged craft, she'd soon come to love its more advanced features than those of the standard production-run Excal. The Mk1/F-103-B had still retained the Reaper guns and 4x3 missile hardpoints that marked its wartime requirements, though she'd eventually talked her ground crew into modifying the hardpoints to fit an extra missile in each one, increasing her missile count to sixteen.

The performance still outshone the newer birds built for the homeguard, though. The missiles didn't pose a mass problem, as the old War-era missiles were far more massive than their modern-day counterparts.

Also, she'd been able to get her groundcrew to fit in a set of maneuvering thrusters off an old crossbow rusting away in a fighter graveyard here on Mars. While this last modification gave the poor old bird maneuverability that rivaled a Vampire, it would put incredible strain on the hull to continually maneuver at its new maximum. As she started up the ladder to her cockpit, she grinned, because the techs had done the same thruster mods to every Excal and half the Thunderbolts on the base.

The Cats were in for one hell of a surprise...

PLANET MARS; MARS STARFIGHTER RETIREMENT FIELD  
1810 HOURS (CST)

The guard at the facility's gate stood back as the gate rose and fifteen hover-busses cruised into the facility, followed by numerous fuel tankers and munitions trucks from the Homeguard Base. The large group of personnel were here for one reason: to get every possible spaceworthy fighter with guns into the air in less than forty minutes. The emergency mobilization would be flown by military personnel visiting Mars, RIFed vets who'd made their homes here after the War, and, God help them, any civilians with any sort of flight experience at all. They were even taking 18- and 19-year olds whose closest experiences to flying a fighter were flight simulation games based on the War.

Within twenty minutes, 83 Hellcats, 57 Arrow Mk5s and Mk2s, and over a hundred Rapiers were finishing their checkouts and assignments. Munitions workers were desperately working to load the fighters with as many missiles as possible while fuelers pumped liquid hydrogen and replaced fuel rods at a dangerous pace. Meanwhile, experienced Vets gave their "students" a crash course in the craft they were about to fly.

Twenty minutes later, the first air-raid siren went off...

KIS _VHAS'KARATH; _FLAG BRIDGE  
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1855 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the _Vhas'Karath,_ both Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki and Vharvek were conferring over their small success. "My liege," Vharvek continued, "do our warriors not consider their flight from battle after such dishonor cowardly? How do we explain...?"

"Vharvek!" Baron Caxki interrupted, "do you not see? The battle in Sirius was not one to be fought to the finish. It was a delaying action. Even before the wounding of our precious Dreadnought at Alcor, I knew that it would not survive another true battle. The Terran Confederation, and even the Border Worlds had grown far too powerful. They would also focus all of that power upon that ship; a symbol of the power of the Kilrathi, and a symbol of terror to them. That is why I had most of the crew transferred off before we departed."

"What? Would the Terrans not detect this? And where are our crew?" Vharvek asked nervously.

"Yes, they were transferred. The Terrans would never know the difference, either. We modified life-detection sensors to emit Kilrathi lifesigns. Our great ship would appear to be fully crewed to all but the most scrutinizing examination, and in the middle of combat, I sincerely doubt that the Terrans were examining their data that closely," Thokkarh said, chuckling. "As for where our crew is, that is a surprise that shall be revealed shortly," the Baron finished with a satisfied smile.

On the viewscreen, the red planet of Mars rapidly grew, and sixteen ships shimmered with pseudomotion as they exited hyperspace. "And as for the Grand Moff's reaction..." Thokkarh said, smiling as he gestured to the screen, "I do not believe it is any longer a concern."

Vharvek stared in prideful satisfaction at the four Fralthi Mk2 cruisers and their escort of four heavy and eight light destroyers that had just jumped in. He could almost taste the _sckviska_ now.

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
NEAR MARS ORBIT  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1900 HOURS (CST)

Jhediah was fighting the impulse to just have Thokkarh's flagship blasted to atoms. First, the Kilrathi Baron had ordered his ships out of Sirius prematurely, costing Jhediah an Imperial II Star Destroyer and his last Lancer frigate. Secondly, the Confederation fleet, supposedly hours behind them, had caught up and had engaged their fleet in a terrific running battle all the way here, the only relief being the forces that the Kilrathi so suddenly diverted here at Jhediah's expense, and a cruiser squadron that he had never been told the existence of. The most frustrating thing was that, with the extensive damage to the _Vacillator,_ the Kilrathi actually outgunned him now. Well, if the Kilrathi wanted their revenge so badly, they could earn it with their own blood now. "Güthrig, rearrange our formations. Put the Kilrathi ships in front of the _Vacillator._ Our ships are to guard our vulnerable stern. All operable TIE craft are to be given launch priority in all combat situations. They will take up guarding positions around our ships, but close enough to the Kilrathi that they don't know what we're doing. If they want to play at this game, then that's their loss."

Güthrig approached Jhediah and addressed him, leaning closely so that no one else would overhear. "Arranging the Baron's ships ahead of us also places them within our most powerful gunnery arc, does it not?"

"Why Admiral Güthrig, why would you ever think of such a thing?" Jhediah said, a sly grin lighting his face. Güthrig smiled in return, nodding his understanding of the order.

And if Thokkarh thought he could so easily wiggle his way out of the New Order, he was in for a very nasty surprise.

F-103-B EXCALIBUR 507  
MARS ORBIT  
1910 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris wrenched her Excalibur at over 140 degrees per second, lining up the skipper missile and strafing it with tachyon and reaper fire. Mercifully, the deadly projectile finally broke up. All around her, people were dying, trying to hold off the onslaught of Kilrathi fighters and TIE Robotics. Ahead of her, another Excalibur took an ImRec missile to its weakened port side, ripping off the left vertical stabilizer, crushing the left tachyon mount, and shredding the port engine nacelle. The fighter instantly lost control, spinning end over end as the pilot screamed. The scream was cut sickeningly short by a staticy boom over the comm, and a flash from where the fighter had fallen behind her.

To her left, a trio of TIE/R fighters died from a wave of FoF Pilum missiles. Another Tigershark from the military reserve base corkscrewed by, flames engulfing its tail. The missile warning light came on again and Lieutenant Ferris wrenched her Excal Mk1 around hard, igniting afterburners and dropping a pair of decoys. The Missile lock died in a flash-boom that was far too close for her comfort. Ferris targeted her new opponent, a puny Darket. She almost laughed as she pointed her fighter at it and squeezed the trigger once. The quad tachyon and duel reaper pulse tore through shields, armor, and flesh with equal abandon. The light fighter was engulfed in a large fireball.

Things were getting nasty. The civilian Rapier IIIs had already lost three-quarters of their numbers. The Arrows had been slashed by two-thirds, and the Hellcats by half. But the pilots left had some serious kind of kick-ass, take-names skills. Still, dozens of craft were dying on each side each minute.

Michele locked an ImRec on a Vaktoth and let him have it. The missile wiped out the fighter's rear shields and half its armor. Ferris' guns finished the rest, and the huge fighter disintegrated violently, slamming into a Dralthi IV, and taking it out as well. Then she saw them. The titanic _Vacillator_ closing on the hapless planet. "My God..." she whispered in terror. _"Fire in the hole!!!"_ she screamed over the connection.

Everyone would know what that meant: a capital ship was about to open up a very indiscriminate, economy-size can of whup-ass, and anyone who wants to live had best get the hell out of the way. Michele aimed her fighter for the nearest clearing and floored it. Most of the fighters made it before the _Vacillator_ opened up. The others' pilots never had the time to feel the pain. Three columns of energy beams far brighter than the sun lanced down upon the Confed base, Homeguard command center, and the capital city of Mars.

The three targets were vaporized in an instant. The beams impacted with hundreds of megatons of force. The temperature at ground zero was over 500,000 degrees. Blast waves reached out for over two hundred miles, wiping out everything before them, including four smaller cities.

With the Martian defenses scattered and routed, the Hakaga moved into orbit and launched one hundred capital ship missiles. As the missiles broke formation to travel to their targets, hundreds of fighters screamed after them. Within minutes, all but a small handful of missiles were destroyed. Ground fire nailed most of the rest, but sixteen got through and vaporized as many cities, killing over thirty million people in a series of blinding flashes.

TCS _INTREPID;_ BRIDGE  
1940 HOURS (CST)

The ship shuddered as the eleven Tarkhans made another series of passes. The _Intrepid_'s light armament had been stripped off a long time ago, as had most of its armor. The ship shook violently as a cluster of tachyon beams ripped deep into the large starboard naicel.

_"Damage report!"_ Captain Tamara Farnsworth called out.

"Starboard armor destroyed. Moderate engine damage. Damage to the starboard reactor and coolant systems. I estimate four minutes till it goes critical, barring more damage."

_"Blast_ it," Panther said in frustration. "Okay, sound abandon ship. While you're doing that, aim us at that giant blade-shaped monster."

The helmsman looked at her worriedly. "Uh, yes, Captain."

The Tarkhans broke off suddenly. "What caused them to do that?" Panther asked. Her answer came up beside her small battered ship seconds later.

The huge TCS _Visigoth_ pulled up alongside the_ Intrepid,_ spitting multicolored death at the smaller ship's tormentors. "Captain, Captain Reynard of the _Visigoth_ sends his regards," the comm officer looked up smiling. "He says they'll take onboard evacuees. Evidently we look as beat-up as our computers tell us we are."

Panther smiled for a moment. "All right. I said abandon ship, _now!_ Get to the _Visigoth_ immediately."

"What... what about you, Captain?" the worried helm officer asked.

"I'm going to make sure this thing gets to its target. We have to stop that bombardment, before it's too late."

"Aye. And, with the Captain's permission, I would like to remain on board."

"Absolutely not. I appreciate the gesture, but—"

"It's no gesture. No one knows how this ship handles better than me! Er... With all due respect, Captain."

Panther thought for a moment as the bridge cleared of personnel. Both of them had an unspoken understanding about just what the gesture meant. "Very well, permission granted. Man your post."

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

The _Visigoth_ pulled away, most of the _Intrepid_'s crew safe in her armored hull. Meanwhile the little _Intrepid_'s engines pushed it to incredible speeds. Those who saw the ship would later say that it must have been guided by the hand of God, Fate, or whatever higher force they believed in. Even the Kilrathi who saw it and survived later would swear that Sivar must have guided them for their warriors' spirits.

The tiny, beaten, haggard, ragged ship deftly dodged turbolaser and AMG blasts. Fighters would seemingly come out of nowhere amidst the swirl of combat to smite any that harassed it. Not even the feared _Drakhai_ could successfully resume their attack on the little ship. A single turbolaser blast struck above the bridge as the _Intrepid_ swooped over the ripped and torn stern of the _Vacillator_. The blast knocked loose a ceiling panel. It swung down, catching the hapless lieutenant and carrying her body away as its other end broke loose from the ceiling.

"Tamara!" Commodore Blair shouted, his voice cracking over the static-ridden comm from the _Midway._ "Don't do this! For Christ's sak—"

Ignoring Blair, Panther suppressed the reflex to go help her fallen comrade. Instead, she took her place at the helm, and aimed the old, distinguished little ship for the _Vacillator_'s bridge tower, remembering from the briefings that taking out the tower would cripple the ship and take out the central command structure for the entire fleet. Unfortunately, though, between crippling battle damage and inexperience at helming a capital ship, she shot slightly higher than the tower's main structure. Panther watched in despair as the tower passed underneath the _Intrepid._ Suddenly, the ship jolted as it clipped the shield generator towers and the long-range communications antenna, crushing them and ripping them clear of the ship. Panther slammed the helm stick as far forward as it would go.

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
1947 HOURS (CST)

"All hands, brace for impact!"

The _Intrepid_ arced over, diving in to the _Vacillator_'s mass just six hundred meters ahead of the bridge tower. The small ship's reactor went critical at the same moment. The ship detonated like a small sun. A huge section of the _Vacillator_'s cityscape structure was vaporized in an instant. More was simply ripped clear of the ship by the blast. Jhediah and Güthrig, lowering their hands from shielding their eyes from the glare instinctively ducked as a huge piece of debris twisted its way toward the bridge. It struck the tower, ripping a almost a third of it off, missing the bridge by only forty-five meters. The dorsal shields failed instantly, forcing Jhediah to order a withdrawal to make repairs to the _Vacillator_, and ending the assault on the civilians of Mars. As Confederation forces forced the Kilrathi and Imperials away from the Red Planet, they took up a guardian position. The depleted carriers and cruisers took on the Mars military pilots, homeguard survivors, and the remaining civilian volunteers.

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ MAIN HANGAR  
1948 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the _Defiance _now, Wedge Antilles looked at the ragged appearance of the Arrows that were to replace the fighters they had lost so-far. There were far too many places open. The entire B-wing squadron had been wiped out by the Tarkhans as they made a run on one of the new Kilrathi cruisers. TIE Defenders and Robotics had ripped the A-wing squadron to pieces, a total of two pilots surviving. The E-wings had lost six of their numbers, half of their squadron.

Wedge slowly walked to Rogue Squadron's hangar. Miraculously, all twelve fighters were still present. Eight of them would never fly again, and half the squadron was in the medbay soaking in bacta, but they were all alive. That was more than he could say for the scores upon scores of Confederation pilots who had died today.

Now, they just had to stop the one of the most powerful fleets ever encountered in New Republic history with one damaged MC-90, a Nebulon-B Escort Frigate, and a fleet of depleted, outnumbered, and outgunned ships who were looking at losing the war outright.

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
SOL-SIRIUS JUMP POINT; NEAR SATURN  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
1949 HOURS (CST)

The Sirius Blockade force came through the jump point at horrendously dangerous speeds. Three damaged and one undamaged Plunkett were lost in transit, as were two Murphys. The force immediately went to full speed.

"Mister Rollins, any word from Confed HQ?" Eisen asked calmly, but Rollins could hear the tension in his voice from years of experience.

"No, sir. Not a word for almost four hours," Rollins said quietly, not eager to start the rumor that his next comment would have begun. It was like it wasn't even there...

"Sir!" a tactical officer called out. "I'm reading over forty capital vessels approaching at high velocity from the Oort Cloud."

"What? What classes? What's their IFF?"

"Silhouette matches Confederation ships. IFF inactive."

"All hands, battle stations."

"Sir? But they match Confed designs..."

"Even so, the Kilrathi have pulled this trick before."

"They're hailing us," Rollins interjected with the welcome news. "It's the TCS _Fenrir,_ a Fenris-class ship. It's the Seventh Fleet from Vega!"

"Easy there, Rollins. Put them on."

The image of the _Fenrir_'s CO, Admiral Dirk Jackson appeared shortly. "Greetings Captain Eisen. Welcome back to Sol—you have no idea how glad I am to see you. When you first pulled through that jump point, we thought you were Kilrathi reinforcements that had blown past the blockade."

Eisen took a moment to compose himself. "I'm glad to see you, too. When I heard that the Imperial fleet came through Charybdis, I thought that the whole Seventh had been lost at New Pegasus."

"No. Luckily for us, we were on maneuvers in the next system, testing the TCS _Polarus._ And unluckily for New Pegasus. There's nothing left, Eisen. They destroyed the whole thing."

"Have you heard from HQ? We haven't been able to contact them in hours."

"You haven't heard? It's gone. They destroyed it. A lot of the personnel escaped to Saturn and have managed to power up the old _Victory,_ but..." Jackson paused, the words thick in his throat. "Just a few minutes ago... Those bastards bombed Mars." The coldness in his voice was palpable even all the way over in the _St. Helens'_ bridge.

"They bombarded most of the planet before they were stopped. Hit them with that damned Super Star Destroyer, they did, then hit their cities with Capship missiles. They killed over eighty percent of the population, Eisen," Jackson said, his voice choking off. Eisen knew Jackson was born on Mars, had his whole family there. They were most likely dead now.

"I'm sorry, Dirk," Eisen said, his heart genuinely hurting for his friend and comrade.

"Yes, well... there's nothing that can be done for them... But, Christ, we have to stop them from getting Earth, too! I've already ordered my ships to close their ramscoops for maximum velocity. I want you to do the same. Now." Jackson's voice was trembling with the strength of his emotions. "Where going to kill those damned fucking aliens before they get anywhere near Earth!" The last sentence came almost as a shriek, the transmission ending before Eisen could reply.

"Damn. Well, navigation, you heard him. Scoops closed and maximum thrust. Rollins, tell the Border Worlders and the Landreich."

The twelve Plunkett cruisers, six Tallahassee cruisers, sixteen Murphy-class destroyers, six Sheffield-class destroyers, TCS _Fenrir,_ a Fenris-class carrier, TCS _Polaris,_ a Rigel-class carrier, and the TCS _Essex,_ a partially refitted Confederation-class dreadnought, of the Seventh Fleet fell in along side the Sirius blockade force. To his own command, along with the UBW and Landreich forces, Eisen had the_ McKinley,_ the _St. Helens, Apostle, Kyushu, Valley Forge, _seven Plunkett artillery cruisers, and eleven Murphy-class destroyers. He just hoped that it was enough, and that Jackson didn't come apart in the middle of battle...

TCS _MIDWAY;_ CIC  
NEAR MARS, SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
2000 HOURS (CST)

For the first time, Commodore Christopher Blair felt that the Confederation should have occupied the worlds of the defunct Kilrathi Empire after their defeat. He didn't even feel the guilt anymore for Kilrah. He almost felt they should have finished them off altogether when they... Blair forcefully pushed that last thought from his mind, Luke's warnings of the Dark Side replaying in his mind alongside Blair's memories of Tolwyn, another man who must have lost that fight.

_You don't have to be able to feel the Dark Side for it to be able to consume you._

Blair found himself dwelling on that thought, a thought spurred by watching the destruction of the TCS _Intrepid_ and the death of its CO, one of the last few people still alive he considered his friends, Tamara "Panther" Farnsworth. He made himself instead focus on the coming battle. As he'd discussed with Captain Wilford, the Confederation fleet would catch them at the massive laser-sat defense net. Around Earth, six Plunketts, four Tallahassees, eight Murphys, and twelve Sheffields stood escort to The TCS _Reynard_ (another Fenris-class carrier), the terribly incomplete Midway-class megacarrier TCS _Mistral Sea,_ and three Constitution-class battleships: the _Yamato, Bismarck,_ and _Resolute,_ waited. They would move forward and cut off the Imperials while the rest of the fleet engaged them from behind. The general plan was to beat that SSD to death with the battle group's five PTCs. If that didn't work, then Plan B was to delay the fleet until reinforcements arrived. With the Seventh Fleet and Eisen's Sirius Blockade running in-system, with the First and Fourteenth Fleets en route, there was little doubt that Confed could win this one, but it would be the bloodiest fight since the last Battle of Terra.

TCS _FENRIR;_ ADMIRAL'S QUARTERS  
NEAR MARS; EN ROUTE TO EARTH, SOL SYSTEM  
2208 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Dirk Jackson had spent the last two hours in his quarters, his only thoughts being of his now vaporized family in the Martian capital. His eyes were bloodshot from crying. Now, as they sped past the red "planet of war," over a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers away, he could still see the still-glowing craters that marked the obliterated cities.

Rage and sorrow filled his heart to the bursting point. He quickly turned away from the tormenting vision of his scorched world, and his eyes came to rest on a family photo. Behind the glass in the stained wooden frame, his wife of twenty-seven years and his three children, twin daughters and one son, smiled back from it. His daughters had shared their mother's deep auburn hair, but his son had the same jet-black hair of his father.

Jackson placed his hands over his face as he clenched his eye shut with all his strength and dropped to his knees in anguish over the loss of his family. He felt that his heart would burst from the pain. He nearly collapsed to the floor as again deep soul rending sobs racked his whole body.

_I will avenge you, my family. They've gone too far, hurt too many, and I will make them pay for what they've done!_

TCS _MIDWAY; _CAPTAIN'S READY ROOM  
2230 HOURS (CST)

Captain Daniel Wilford frowned and shook his head as Blair finished. "Damn it, Chris, please don't do this. You're the overall commander of this entire operation. You can't just jump into a fighter and fly off into the middle of battle. Your duty is here, commanding the fleet. I know can't pull rank on you, so I'm asking you again, please don't do this."

Blair frowned, but couldn't get angry at his friend. Looking into Wilford's eyes, he saw genuine concern there. "Daniel, I'm a pilot, heart and soul. My rank is only a formality. I'm no expert on fleet actions. That's your expertise. I fly fighters. That's what I do; it's what I am, what I've always been. I'm no use stuck in here."

Wilford raised his hands in resignation, smiling lightly. "Okay, okay, Chris. You've made your point. I'll inform Commander Drake and have Rachel ready a Vampire for you. You win." Wilford paused. "You've never flown one of these yet, have you?" he asked.

A look of concern crossed Blair's face. "Nope. Why? Is there, uh, something wrong?" he asked.

Wilford shook his head. "No, nothing's wrong. It's just, from what I've heard, you're in for a real treat," he said, smiling. He extended his hand, "Good luck, Chris."

Blair took it, smiling. "Thank you. Give my regards to Bill when he gets here, okay? I think I'm going to be a little too busy."

"You've got it," Wilford said. "Now hurry up. Our pilots are all ready preparing for launch. Briefing's in ten minutes."

As Blair ran out the door, Wilford pressed a button on his desk. Commander Drake, could I see you in my ready room?" He waited for her acknowledgement, then pressed another button.

"Rachel here," came the exhausted voice of Master CPO Rachel Coriolis.

"This is Wilford. I need you to ready Lieutenant Colonel Walton's Morningstar. I've found a... ah... substitute pilot."

He could hear the tired exasperation in her reply, "Yes, sir. We'll get right on it."

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ MAIN HANGAR  
2236 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the _Defiance,_ Leia Organa Solo was having the same argument with Luke, if a bit more livid.

"Luke, there's no reason for you to go out there! You better use to us here, as an advisor!"

Luke stopped at the base of the ladder to his modified X-wing. "Leia, this is the final battle, our last stand against the darkness. We need every pilot we have out there." Leia still looked unconvinced, her face filled with concern. "Out there, I can make a difference. Also, there is a disturbance in the force. A building pressure as events approach a nexus. I know you can feel it too. Something big is coming, something dark, and I can only meet it out there," he said, gesturing towards the open space beyond the hangar. A space filled with unfamiliar stars.

Leia wasn't through yet though. "But Luke, surely you can face it better here, without having to worry about piloting a fighter."

Luke shook his head. "Leia, I can't do that. Back during the Battle of Endor, I watched helplessly from a distance as my friends and allies died. That has haunted me ever since. I have never felt more helpless. I can't do that again. If I'm going to help, I need to do it from where I can make a difference. I know what I'm going to say next will be hard for you to hear, but if we don't stop them here... that blue world out there will be as lifeless as the asteroids of Alderaan."

Leia turned away quickly, suppressing her emotions with a Jedi calming exercise. Her voice betrayed the tears she was fighting, "That's not fair, Luke."

Luke let out his breath slowly and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but you know it's true. And we can't let them do that." Them being the Empire.

Leia nodded. She turned around and hugged her brother. "You just be careful, okay?"

Luke returned her embrace, smiling. "Of course I will," he said as she let go. He watched until she left the hangar. As he started to climb the ladder, another familiar figure walked up. Luke turned, smiling. "Wedge! I didn't think I would get the chance to talk to you before we launched."

Wedge's mood lightened a little, but he was still grim. "Yeah. I just wanted to warn you. It's like nothing we've ever faced out there. The sheer number of Imperial craft is staggering, and they now have high grade shields. That alone is almost as bad as Endor, but these Kilrathi craft... They're better shielded and more powerful than anything else we've ever faced. They're also quite intimidating. Studying the stats are one thing, but going up against blade-shaped fighters larger than the _Falcon_ and as maneuverable as an E-wing is unnerving. The only thing that's lacking is tactics. They seem to prefer reckless swarm attacks."

Luke gave his friend an incredulous look. "Are you trying to scare me?" he asked Wedge.

Wedge shook his head. "Not, not at all. I just wanted you to know exactly we're up against. Oh, one more thing. With the firepower these ships are packing, don't take anything larger than a Dralthi head on. These shields Confed gave us for our fighters are much stronger, but they still can't take that much punishment."

Luke's smile was replaced with a more serious look. "Thanks for the warning. Watch yourself out there."

Wedge finally smiled. "Of course. It's going to be like old times out there," he said, and walked off.

"Yeah, old times," Luke said to himself, remembering those same words before the Battle of Yavin. He'd been talking to his friend Biggs Darklighter just before the mission against the Death Star. Luke suddenly shivered. The memory was like a premonition, though he felt nothing through the Force. It was just an old-fashioned gut feeling.

Luke hoped it turned out to be nothing...

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ FLIGHT DECK  
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
2248 HOURS (CST)

The flight deck of the great Vesuvius-class heavy/supercarrier was lined with the ship's entire complement of F-110A Wasp-class interceptors. The decks of the other seven Confederation carriers were similarly crowded. The armada was still over half an hour away from Earth, their constant acceleration having propelled the capital ships to a speed of over 20,000 KPS and climbing. Soon though, they would have to begin breaking, lest they overshoot Blair's fleet and slam headlong into the Imperials and Kilrathi.

As the fleet seriously needed backup, the _St. Helens, McKinley, Fenrir, Polaris, Essex, Apostle, Kyushu, _and _Valley Forge_ were prepping their Wasps for a closed-scoop burn to join the beleaguered fleet. The acceleration from their SRBs would allow them to reach the battle over twenty minutes ahead of the 7th and the Sirius Blockade. Pilots were just now finishing their preflight checks. If this worked, then a total of ten squadrons of fighters would bolster the Confed fleet as they began their engagement.

As the last pilot finished his check, the announcement blared over the intercom, "All interceptor squadrons, begin launch!" As its repulsors lifted it off the deck, the first Wasp powered it's engine's to full. It launched out of the fighter bay like a bullet. Within seconds, fighters were screaming out of the flight decks of all eight carriers. They carefully aligned themselves into formation, and lit their solid rocket boosters. The tremendous acceleration carried the 160 fighters out of sight in an instant.

Eisen watched the fighters disappear in the distance, a blessing in his heart. _God be with you in all things, and remain between you and harm._ "God speed, and good luck," he said quietly.

Aboard the BWS _Zephyr,_ a similar launch was taking place. The five remaining fighters of Shadow Flight were lined up on the flight deck. The Dragon-class Space Superiority fighters were huge. At 40 meters long, their size rivaled even Confed's new TB-80A Devastator-class torpedo bombers. Replacing the injured pilot aboard Shadow Three, Major Frederick von Richthofen finished his preflight checklist. He looked around his cockpit, noticing that something seemed to be missing. He thought for a few seconds, then remembered. He pulled a small black and white photograph out of his left chest pocket. He quickly stuck it between his Multi Function Displays.

The photo was of two men standing by an old biplane. The one on the left was an ancestor of Frederick's named Lothar, a German ace in the first World War. The other was his brother, Manfred von Richthofen, the famous Red Baron. Frederick felt his chest fill with pride as he gazed at the ancestors' picture.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He rechecked the straps holding him in his seat, and then the inertial dampeners. If the former failed, then dogfighting would get a lot harder. If the latter did, he would be crushed to a red putty on the back of his seat. As the signal came to launch, he leaned back in his seat. The first two Dragons shot out of the landing bay like a bat out of hell. Then it was his turn. Frederick shoved his throttle to full and gasped as his ship, no longer inhibited by the disengaged bussard ramscoops, leapt out of the carrier. He carefully formed up on the new Shadow Lead, Lt. Colonel Louis Welch, who'd replaced the injured pilot of Shadow Six, which now ran as Shadow One. Welch had been given the assignment for two reasons. First, he was the best and most experienced assault-fighter pilot on the _Zephyr,_ his career dating back to the First Kilrathi War. The second reason was that he no longer had a squadron to command, as the other eleven Avengers had been shot down between the two engagements with the Kilrathi/Imperial fleet. Frederick regretted losing his own squadron, but they had been decimated in the last battle while escorting bombers against the Kilrathi Dreadnought. The five other survivors were assigned to other squadrons to fill in losses. Besides, Frederick needed the transfer to the Dragon, his own fighter having been irreparably damaged in the battle in Sirius.

The five fighters activated their afterburners, acceleration out of sight almost as quickly as the Wasps. The reasons for the two fighter launches were simple. Flying without their intakes open would burn reserve fuel. Other fighters would quickly run dry, but the Wasps had a disposable fuel supply, their SRBs. So they idled their engines and used their rockets' thrust exclusively. The Dragons, on the other hand, had a replenishable fuel supply, and, at these speeds, they would only need to activate their intakes for about twenty seconds to refill their fuel tanks.

CONFEDERATION/NEW REPUBLIC FLEET  
WITHIN LUNAR ORBIT, EARTH  
2250 HOURS (CST)

"Be careful, Commodore," came the voice of the ship's communications officer. "Good luck." Blair braced himself as the _Midway_'s catapult shot his Morningstar out at over 1,000 KPS. He quickly slid into formation with the other fighters launching from the _Midway_ and its escorts. Huge formations of fighters had already formed up.

Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Corran Horn, and Gavin Darklighter eased their Incom T-65C X-wings out of the _Defiance_'s launching bay. Wedge reached for his strike foil toggle switch and rang out a call dating back to the early days of the Rebel Alliance, "Rogue Squadron, lock S-foils in attack position." The others acknowledged as he threw his own switch. His cockpit was filled with the metallic whirring of the fighter's S-foil servo as his wings locked into the trademark "X" position that gave the fighter it's name.

Luke watched his friend's squadron launch as he powered up the repulsorlifts of his personal X-wing, AA-589. R2-D2 secure in his astromech slot, his own X-wing—still the very same X-wing he flew the Death Star trench run in ages ago—lifted off the launchbay's deck. He toggled a switch and his landing gears retracted into their recesses. As he moved toward the huge opening into space, he saw other ships prepping for takeoff. The six E-wings of Green Squadron, accompanied by the last pair of A-wings, were already moving into position to launch, following Luke. All around, pilots adopted from the Martian homeguard and volunteer militia were powering up, preparing to launch. He choked up slightly. The force reverberated with their sorrow and anger. The Dark Side beckoned, strengthening with their emotions. Luke pushed its influence away as he cleared the atmospheric forcefield. He throttled up, moving into the Confederation formations, looking for something. He locked his S-foils as he found it. A presence he felt compelled to find. "Commodore?" he asked on the Confed frequency, already knowing the answer.

General Maarek Stele flew his Missile Boat clear of the _Vacillator_'s massive superstructure. Kilometers ahead, he could see the Kilrathi ships and fighters engaging the Laser-sat defense net. He switched to their frequency and heard the typical sounds of combat. Their pilots were calling their targets, attacking with determination, and some of them dying. The defense net was clearly thicker than Kilrathi intelligence had reported, and they were paying for their mistake with a little blood. His squadrons of Missile Boats formed up on his lead. Around him, thousands of Imperial and Kilrathi fighters flew in formation. Far ahead, he could see the Terrans' homeguard fleet, a carrier of some kind, three large monsters that matched intelligence specifications of a Terran battleship, a few artillery cruisers, Murphy-class destroyers, and old destroyers and heavy cruisers like those fielded by the Union of Border Worlds Navy. Ahead of them, their fighters flew in a vanguard. Beyond them, in close orbit to Earth, the Sol Station superbase stood. Larger even than Confed HQ, the huge starbase was Terra's very last line of defense.

Aboard the _Vacillator_, Admiral Güthrig sent a signal to Admiral Tschel. "Admiral, begin Operation Anvil. Stay only long enough to launch the assault, then get clear quickly. That starbase is going to hit you with everything it has."

Tschel's blue holographic image nodded. "Yes, Admiral." He saluted as Güthrig's image dissolved. He tuned and began issuing orders. The six remaining Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, the last Victory Star Destroyer, and the Katana-class dreadnaught pitched downward. The _Midway_'s battle group watched in confusion as the powerful fleet of ships jumped forward, shimmered, and vanished.

The last squadrons of fighters were lifting off from Earth. They consisted of a similar mix of Confed, Homeguard, and civilian volunteers as the defenders of Mars. They quickly formed up with the hundreds of fighters moving to assist the _Reynard'_s fleet. As they throttled up and sped away from Earth, their proximity warnings sounded.

Dead ahead, space shimmered. Six Imperial II Star Destroyers, a Victory Star Destroyer, and the Katana dreadnaught came out of hyperspace over Earth. The Terran fighters swerved away hard, trying to avoid a lethal collision. While most were successful, there were many who collided with another fighter, or were boxed in and slammed headlong into one of the mammoth ships' shields.

In the midst of the chaos, the Imperial Warships deployed their fighters and began their landing operation. As TIEs swamped the desperate defenders, landing craft, troop transports, and dropships exited the huge landing bays and approached the surface. One hundred AT-ATs, 150 AT-STs, and almost sixty thousand troops headed down toward the surface.

Meanwhile, Tschel's ships turned and began a high-thrust burn back toward the battle, approaching the Confed homefleet from behind...

TCS _REYNARD; _BRIDGE  
2300 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Henry Nelson watched in awe as the battle began. The Kilrathi were quickly decimating the Laser-sat defense perimeter. It was never meant to stop an attack of this magnitude. As his squadrons engaged, the sky in front of him suddenly lit up like a country field at sundown, as the fireflies came out at night. It was both beautiful and horrible at the same time. Each one of those flashes was a missile exploding or a pilot's life ended.

Beyond that lethal light show, the capital ships of the Kilrathi Imperial Allies, or KIAs, as they were informally being called, advanced constantly, like an unstoppable juggernaut. The _Vacillator_ stood behind them, its immense form dwarfing the powerful Kilrathi ships leading the fleet.

They were quickly sweeping aside the defense net... and the _Reynard_'s fighters. Nelson could hear the hum filling the air, feeling a shudder in the deck through his shoes. The Fleet had only one wild card to play, and it was charging to capacity while pilots died in scores...

F/A-X MORNINGSTAR 001  
LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET  
2307 HOURS (CST)

Blair checked his fuel as the Confed and New Republic fighters finally met the Imperial picket line. There were hundreds of fighters around him, flying in massive formations as they approached their destiny. Off his right wing was his new wingman and doppelganger from another galaxy, Luke Skywalker. He armed his trackers as the Imperials approached.

"We can do this, Chris," Luke said, the Jedi Master's voice calm and collected as ever.

"Hey, Coward of K'Tithrak Mang'..." It was Major Dirk "Stingray" Wright, of course. Probably the only pilot still alive who remembered the nickname. "Let's see some of that mockfighting shit out here, okay?"

Blair smiled as he gave the command that began the fighting on the starward front of the Second Battle of Terra. "All Vampires, fire trackers now." All around him, the _Midway_'s Vampires fired the first wave of MIRV missiles, followed a second later by a second wave, then a third, and a fourth. The rockets streaked to the edge of the Imperial formations. There, they each jettisoned four FoF missiles. The Imperial formation scattered as they suddenly found themselves besieged by over two hundred missiles. The Phantoms cloaked, while the Defenders, Interceptors, Bombers, and Missile boats attempted to shoot down the rapid harbingers of death.

Blair heard Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter let out a whoop of triumph as one hundred twenty seven Imperial fighters met their doom. _Now I know why they call them KIAs,_ he thought.Then the battle was upon him. The Confed/NR fighters slashed into the Imperials firing everything they had. Quickly, the missile-carrying Imperials let loose a barrage of advanced missiles and torpedoes, tearing into the Allied advance. Again, space lit up with brilliant flashes of light, but this time, Confed was holding its own. Fighters twisted through the growing clouds of debris, desperately avoiding death and trying to send their enemies into its embrace.

He watched in horror as a Devastator bomber caught the brunt of a heavy turbolaser battery's blast. The five huge beams vaporized the craft instantly.

He imagined Hawk grinning as he watched Colonel Manley in the thrill of combat as another Interceptor disintegrated under his guns.

"Looks like you owe me one, Commodore," Luke said, drawing Blair away from the distraction as his X-wing's four light turbolasers vaporized a Defender tailing Blair, the debris glancing off his shields.

"Yeah, yeah..."

While Blair afterburned away, a pair of Darkets poured fire into an E-wing, their pilots roaring a victory cry, while the E-wing's pilot screamed as fire consumed him. A lone F/A-105A Tigershark somersaulted through the formations, its cockpit a burning mass of charred wreckage. A pair of Piranhas vomited fire and shattered under the punishment of a Tarkhan's guns. A squadron of Wasps slaughtered a squadron of TIE Bombers with a salvo of swarmers. A Shrike caught a turbolaser at the base of its "neck" and disintegrated in a massive fireball. Three Dralthi VIIs dogged an unfortunate Vampire, shredding it quickly.

It was good to be back...

SSD _VACILLATOR; _BRIDGE  
2311 HOURS (CST)

Ahead of the _Vacillator_, the Confed pilots were being slaughtered mercilessly. Finally, after only three minutes of combat, the ragged defenders broke off, diving away from the confrontation. Aboard the wounded, but still mighty warship, Jhediah felt a sense of elation.

Behind him, Güthrig felt a sense of foreboding. Their path of retreat makes no sense. Why wouldn't they head back toward their ships? Then the answer hit him. He dashed to a computer console, pushing the duty officer out of the way. He called up the known specifications of the Fenris-class heavy carriers and Constitution-class battleships. There it was, just as he feared. He hesitated only for a moment, so that he could decide which action to order first. He turned to the crewpits. "Helm, emergency evasive maneuvers! Positive pitch, ten degrees. Now!" He turned to another crewman. "All power to the forward shields!"

As the great ship heaved up, Jhediah turned to the Admiral. "Admiral Güthrig, what are you doing?"

"Saving our lives," he replied tersely.

Jhediah, clearly not seeing the threat, frowned at him. "And exactly how do you intend to do that?"

Güthrig replied in four words, "Four Phase-Transit Cannons."

Jhediah's eyes widened. "What?"

A cry came out from the crewpit, "Enemy fire incoming!"

Güthrig's eyes widened, "Grab on to something." He hit a comm switch on the command chair. "All hands, brace for impact!"

No sooner had he said those words than four blue-white balls of cohesive energy slammed into the _Vacillator_'s bow. The great ship shuddered horribly as great sections of hull were vaporized and atmosphere blew away into space. Güthrig, busy seeing to the safety of his crew, lost his footing and fell into the starboard crewpit, catching hit head on the edge of the command walkway in the process.

A lieutenant rushed over to his aid, and nearly panicked as he saw blood pooling around Güthrig's head. He grabbed his comm unit and called to sickbay, "Medical team to the bridge! The Admiral is down!" Güthrig held a hand against the gash in his forehead as he slowly lifted himself from the floor. The lieutenant eased him to his feet.

Güthrig smiled at the young man's worried look. "Just a flesh would," he said dismissively. "It's not very deep, but head wounds hurt a lot and bleed like crazy." The med-team finally arrived and quickly descended into the crewpit to see to the Admiral.

Jhediah looked down from his command chair as damage and casualty reports started coming in. The PTC rounds had ruptured thirty-six decks and destroyed twelve turbolaser batteries, five heavy turbolaser batteries, and sixteen ion cannon, claiming at least 2,500 lives. "Hmm, I was expecting more damage than that," Jhediah said calmly, as if oblivious to the loss of life.

Güthrig grumbled as the medics finished patching up his head with expert grace. "That's because they didn't hit our Sublight Drive engines with that round." The only reason for the incredible damage last time was that the three kilometer-long engines had blown. "But, we still can't take that kind of punishment for long. I'm going to have the Kilrathi advance on Earth's defenders."

Jhediah nodded his consent. The Kilrathi had shown too much duplicity for his liking, and he would just as well have them bleed themselves on the Terrans' defenses.

"Comm!" Güthrig called out loudly, so that the officer in the other crewpit could hear him. "Inform the Kilrathi to advance toward Earth. They are to wipe out the Confederation battleships first. I want those Phase-Transit Cannons out of the picture! And be sure to tell them where our ground forces have landed. We don't want them to bomb out own troops in their zeal."

Jhediah raised an eyebrow as Güthrig returned to his side. "So, you believe that the Kilrathi will reach Earth on their own?" He made it a question.

"Of course not. They'll have help from Tschel's task force, which is quickly coming up behind the Confederation fleet. Their fighters are keeping Earth's homeguard at bay so that they can't interfere with the ground ops, but their guns will go a long way towards assisting the Baron in his task," Güthrig said with a knowing smile, and Jhediah smiled along with him.

"Sir, they're firing again!"

"All hands, brace for impact."

This time, Güthrig braced himself on the ominous black command chair as the _Vacillator_ shook from yet another heavy blow. He silently cursed as the damage reports began coming in again.

TCS _REYNARD;_ BRIDGE  
2315 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Nelson turned as Lieutenant Olson gave his report. "Sir, we've finally located that Interdictor Cruiser. It's just sitting at the edge of that system, emitting a strong gravity field."

Nelson's gaze was lost for a moment in thought. "Is it affecting any asteroids or special debris?"

The Lieutenant was prepared for the question, as he didn't even have to refer to his datapad, "No, sir. The gravity field is directed away from any know strata."

"Hmm, that's strange. Keep an eye on it."

"Aye, sir."

There wasn't anything obviously dangerous about the Interdictor's activities, but something about it was nagging at him. The thought put him at unease. That just doesn't make any sense. He could spare the strange activity no further thought though, as the Kilrathi capital ships were approaching gunnery range.

As the two fleets approached, the new cruisers and the heavy and light destroyers took the fleet's vanguard. The move, along with the Kilrathi's strict avoidance of the PTC firing arcs seemed sensible, but again, something nagged at the back of Nelson's mind. Like a small voice in the back of his mind screaming "DANGER!" "All cruisers, engage Kilrathi heavies as soon as they enter range. Sheffields support. Murphys will stay back to guard the _Reynard." _Activity on the bridge increased as his orders were carried out.

Aboard the TCS _Francisco,_ a Sheffield-class destroyer, Captain Damson Reinfeld watched the Kilrathi ships approach in a strange crescent formation. The _Francisco_ was part of the fleet's picket force, just ahead of the powerful Achilles-class heavy cruisers and the vastly more destructive Plunketts.

"Sir, we are within weapons range," Lieutenant Commander Peterson informed him.

"Good. Gunnery control, lock on to the nearest heavy cruiser and fire."

"Aye, sir!"

Before the officer even began to reply, seven duel streams of laser fire and one of antimatter bursts began streaming into the lead cruiser.

"Sir, enemy light destroyers locking on. They're firing!"

Reinfeld braced himself for the battering his small ship was about to receive, but he still gasped as large green energy bolts lanced from the eight light destroyers and slammed into his shields.

"Shields down to sixty percent, thirty, five. Sir, shields are down!" The report was punctuated by a tremendous shrieking clang, as 64 heavy turbolasers ripped into the hull, the violent vaporization of the armor tearing off huge chunks between. The whole ship shuddered and jolted backwards from the force of the blast. A second wave hit the ship, and the hull burst open, vomiting air, debris, and crew into the void. A third wave struck, vaporizing the debris and punching into the core of the ship. The TCS _Francisco_ ceased to exist as a massive blue-white fireball engulfed it from the inside out as the antimatter reactor and storage cells breached.

The time elapsed from the first shot: Seven seconds.

"My God," Nelson said in awe as the shimmering cloud dissipated. "All ships, open fire!" Those ships have been refitted with turbolasers, he thought. The light destroyers, which before had been little more than cannon fodder in a capship battle, were now as dangerous as a heavy cruiser.

A second flash lit the bridge momentarily.

"There went the _Courageous,"_ an officer reported.

"Damn it! Get the Constitutions on the horn! New target for their PTCs! Blast those Cat cruisers!" Nelson ordered. Only a frantic cry from the sensors officer let them know of the threat approaching from behind.

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
2319 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Tschel smiled as the Confederation forces franticly engaged the Kilrathi fleet. "Ensign?"

"Still no sign that they have detected us, sir."

"Good, activate targeting sensors and lock on to the battleships' engines. I want this settled quickly."

"Sensors active. Locking..."

"They've detected us, sir!" And then a moment later, "Locked and ready to fire!"

"Too late for them," Tschel said with a smile on his lips. He had come to understand how Grand Admiral Thrawn must have felt in his finest moments of glory when he had served under him—a lowly ensign then—on the _Chimaera._ It seemed like a lifetime ago. "Fire." The Constitutions' aft AMG and fission gun turrets, as well as the smaller laser turrets on the _Reynard_ and the escort of Murphys, turned about ad began firing as the first turbolaser blasts hit. The battleships' shields fluctuated wildly as they fought to stave off the incredible energies battering the ships.

Tschel laughed lightly at the pitiful reply to the onslaught dished out by his small fleet. To the credit of the Confed skippers, they did get one last salvo of PTC shot off before their shields failed.

KIS _VHAS'KARATH; _FLAG BRIDGE  
2322 HOURS (CST)

Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki swore in a very ignoble way when the Fralthi II heavy cruisers detonated like four small suns in the sky. The only reconciliation was that they'd killed three destroyers and a cruiser before they died. The turbolaser-equipped warships were to be his key to reclaiming the throne once Jhediah was out of the way.

"You still have the destroyers, my liege," Vharvek consoled him. A flash of light blinked among his ships and he cursed again. "Well, most of the destroyers." Thokkarh gave Vharvek a hostile look and the _Tho'reari _bowed and backed away for his own safety.

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
2324 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Tschel's smile widened as the first battleship's shields failed and its engines were immolated in green fury. The caress of the _Death's Head_'s ion cannons took care of the ship's Phase-Transit Cannon. The huge ship fell out of formation, its lights flickering and its weapons fire sputtering out. A second quickly followed.

TCS _REYNARD;_ BRIDGE  
2325 HOURS (CST)

"Commodore Nelson, we've lost the _Yamato_ and the _Resolute._ The _Bismarck_ reports that their shields are failing now."

"Blast it. How are our escorts faring?" Nelson asked. "So far, the Imperials are ignoring them. They seem to be going after the ships equipped with PTCs."

"Sir, the _Mistral Sea_ reports that they are falling in behind and above us to shield us from enemy fire."

"Send Captain Monroe my thanks," Nelson said, sighing with relief. Those Star Destroyers would be hard pressed to gun down a megacarrier.

"The Plunketts _Robert E. Lee_ and _Genghis Khan_ are flanking us as well, but we just lost the _Bismarck._ The Imperials are moving around us and are trading fire with out escorts."

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
2327 HOURS (CST)

Tschel cursed as the Confed escort ships closed formation around their carrier. _Fine, let them keep that ship._ _Güthrig and the Kilrathi will still destroy it when they overrun their position._ The Imperial ships were forced to steer around the thicket of ships, but they pelted the Plunketts and the _Mistral Sea, _damaging them severely, as well as several lighter escorts.

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
2330 HOURS (CST)

Fleet Admiral William Eisen was starting to worry as word of the battle reached him. The Kilrathi/Imperial fleet was on the verge of breaking through Confed's last line of defenses, and the Imperials had successfully launched a massive landing operation. Also, Blair had gone out dogfighting, leaving Captain Wilford in command of the Confed fleet behind the Imperials. That was probably for the better, as each of them was doing what they knew best. Blair was flying, while Wilford was directing the fleet action.

The biggest problem was that Blair's fleet couldn't get past the Super Star Destroyer to help Commodore Nelson. Fortunately, Admiral Jackson had come up with a way to remedy that problem. The Sirius blockade, Seventh, First, and Fourteenth Fleet forces would wait until the last second to begin breaking, overshoot the Imperial Fleet, coming up behind Nelson's battered forces. They would then swing around and give the Kilrathi a bloody nose.

Eisen had been very skeptical of Jackson's plan, and had asked the others their opinions. Bear and Lone Wolf had thought it was their only option to save the situation, keeping the Kilrathi from having a clear road to Earth. Vice Admiral Jamison hadn't been any better. The plan actually appealed to him. Eisen should have known better. The Border Worlders were famous for their insane combat tactics. So, the fleet had waited, and now they were about to begin a maximum threshold breaking maneuver. Separate from the fleet, the _Zephyr_ and the ships with the worst combat damage had already begun breaking ten minutes ago and would still have to perform an aerobraking maneuver around Earth, lest it risk breaking up from the stresses.

Eisen looked at the huge fleet. "Begin braking now."

"Aye, sir!"

The huge Vesuvius-class supercarrier went quiet as its engines went into standby mode. The lights and monitors flickered as the incredibly powerful electromagnetic-ramscoops powered up. The increase in drag was instantly felt, as the ship began slowing. The maneuvering thrusters kicked in, causing the ship to lurch backwards as their light rumbling filled the air. Eisen sighed, hoping that the 50 plus ships would be enough to hold the line, though he doubted even that would be enough.

TCS _MIDWAY; _BRIDGE  
SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA, FORMER LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET  
2344 HOURS (CST)

There were whoops and shouts on the bridge as the 160 Wasps finally arrived. Their firepower would go a long way toward evening the odds. There were also a few gasps as the sensor officer reported the presence of five Dragons. Those fighters hadn't been seen in over a decade, during the operation to hunt down the remaining Black Lance members, though there were rumors that some had been used against the Imperials during the Battle of Alcor.

Wilford smiled as the Imperials and Kilrathi were torn to pieces by the fresh fighters. He then issued orders to advance on the ISDs that had returned and taken up defensive positions behind the _Vacillator_'s still-vulnerable stern.

Victory was in sight...

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ ADMIRAL'S QUARTERS  
2350 HOURS (CST)

"Private communiqué for you, Admiral," the young comm officer had told him minutes ago to Jhediah's mistrust. "For your eyes only, sir," she stressed the point. Jhediah's icy gaze relented and Admiral Güthrig had hastily gone to his quarters to receive it—there was still a battle to be fought, after all.

"Admiral Güthrig..." came a raspy, deep voice as he activated the comm in his sparse quarters. The figure that appeared on the holoprojector, darkened to near total blackness, didn't help any.

"Yes?" Güthrig snapped. "Who is speaking, please?"

The voice gave a chuckle, a hearty one. "Know that you will be rewarded for your service, Admiral. Be strong. Be vigilant. Do what you have done." The stranger's voice grew more enigmatic, taking on a tone that hit a chord in Güthrig in such a manner that he couldn't begin to explain. "The day of our glorious absolution nears."

With that, the transmission abruptly ended and the holo figure vanished from the projector.

Puzzled, yet intrigued, Güthrig strode back to the _Vacillator_'s bridge to tend to his duties. He didn't give the cryptic communiqué another thought.

**CONT...**


	7. Chapter VI

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter VI : Retribution

  
**THE SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA**

ISD2 _SPITE;_ OBSERVATION DECK  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
DEC 30 2680/2680.363; 2353 HOURS (CST)

Really, she isn't that spectacular or exciting. You know, Jalin?"

"Sir...?"

"That blue and white sphere in front of us, General—I can't believe several bands of disgusting humanoid aliens would band together just to defend one planet among thousands. It's just so... pitiful. Don't you think?" Captain Xerin Solna, the middle-aged commander of the the _Spite_ stated.

As the entire remnants of an joint Imperial-Kilrathi Strike Fleet—now a still-formidable Executor-class SSD, 6 Imperial II SDs, Victory SD, Katana-class dreadnaught, and on the Kilrathi side the Hakaga supercarrier, 28 Corvettes, two Kamekh destroyers, Ralari II heavy destroyer, 8 light destroyers, a Snakeir-class carrier—cruised confidently toward Terra, that blue and white sphere, Captain Solna and his executive officer, Lt. General Jalin Mithrin, sat in their cushy, velvet plush chairs. Each of them sipped Rigmarrin Tea while recalculating the attack plan against the Empire's final and most impressive target:

Planet Earth—the cradle of the Terran Confederation.

"Well surely, sir, without rudeness to my words, you must see the situation from their point of view. Quite the sizable attack fleet filled with angry peoples craving victory are making a Wampa-line right for their homeworld, their entire race's place of ancestral origin." The Lt. General continued, speaking slowly and with confidence, "They have stuck thorns in our sides these past hours few of battle, but for the most part we have sent them running. The Rebellion," the Lt. General followed his CO's hard-line Imperial reference, "and the Terran Confederation are scared, fearful of the future, and are in a state of panic and confusion as to the events that led up to such a dire situation as this. We're going to beat them, and they know it, sir."

A long pause followed as Solna sipped his tea for just a moment.

"Exciting, isn't it?" the Captain added.

"Very much so, Captain. When do our dropships and the Hakaga's transports touch down?" Mithrin was eager for the last strike that would cripple this new bane, the Terran Confederation, hurting the government's morale. And without high morale, there is no lust for life, and without that, any lust for victory, Jalin considered.

"It's just minutes, Mithrin. Just minutes now, and our cloaked transports shall begin deploying ground forces." Captain Solna smiled at Grand Moff Jhediah's ingenuity in his implementation of the long-forgotten Spaarti Cloning Cylinders to supplement their lacking ranks of Stormtroopers, Stormtroopers that were now on their way to the unremarkable M-class sphere before them now. "The first stage to eternal victory shall be with the Third Imperium."

And so the two went back to sipping their cups of tea, as Earth became larger and larger to them through the viewports.

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION  
PLANET EARTH; HOUSTON CITY LIMITS, TEXAS  
2359 HOURS (CST)

At 2350 Hours, Nagasaki, only miles away from the Terran Confederation Fleet Service Academy, was a hive buzzing with activity. Any and all fighters, old and new, from Ferrets to Vampires were launched from the base, en route to the military phalanx positioning against the incoming Imperial-Kilrathi fleet blazing past Mars and onto Earth itself. Already, anyone present on Earth could see the arrowhead-silhouettes of Star Destroyers, the dwindling Kilrathi forces getting larger in the night sky by the hour. However, already three Vesuvius-class supercarriers, ten Confederation-class carriers, two Concordia-class light fleet carriers, five Caernaven-class patrol frigates, and ten Murphy and Sheffield-class destroyers were positioning themselves around Earth...

The Nagasaki Installation itself had always been prepared for this sort of event; it was a military city, rather than a true-to-name installation. At this place cadets were trained and the Confederation's top-most officers made plans that would affect everybody and anybody treading Confed soil.

The military center's architecture was a throwback to Roman times, with four main streets and four cubic apartment complexes that could easily be adjusted upon priority. Built on top of the apartment complexes were landing bays for aerospace fighters and transports. Built on top of the landing bays were anti-aircraft defenses—turreted plasma cannons and missile launchers lined up in neat little rows by the hundreds. The whole installation was colored with cold steel grays and navy blues.

Smack dab in the middle of the entire installation was the HQ of the entire place—a reaching skyscraper that ended in a point that, like the structure's namesake, threatened to scrape the sky itself. Around the Nagasaki Twin Towers transports and fighters circled around it like ravens, some in protection of the city and others simply waiting to be cleared to land.

While one hundred thousand soldiers were within the Installation's concourse, at least two hundred thousand Army and Marine troops were outside the center's walls. Every soldier had been fitted with Confederate-red blaster-resistant armor and a pump-action plasma rifle to complement their standard-issue assault rifles.

Some soldiers climbed into hover tanks brandishing at least two pulse laser cannons pointing four directions, others climbed into single-person battle pods that held either one laser cannon or missile launcher. Others simply charged or loaded up their weapons—M-47 and M-48 Semiauto Laser Rifles, Marscorp MPR-27s, M-297 neutron mini guns, M-58A1 and HK-57 Laser Assault Rifles, SMGs, and RPGs—rechecked armor, and received orders and info through their headsets.

Among the group organized for a chaos that would come soon enough, was positioned Colonel John "Gash" Dekker of the Terran Confederation Marine Corps, standing his ground as he finished off the last cigarette in his pack. While he handled the infantry personnel, some of his men were in the Nagasaki hangars, suiting up in the fighters and preparing for take-off. Air cover would be a necessity for the Confederate forces to win the ground half of the Second Battle of Terra.

Overhead, several glowing streaks appeared in the clear sky above. Fighters would swoop over the terrain on bombing runs, and transports would set down and deploy soldiers.

"Everyone," a voice called out over the PA system, "Suit up and get ready. Infantry, HAPCs, and battle pods will go in first, protecting the hover tanks and ground assault vehicles while they take down the heavy artillery. Beowulf Squadron shall defend the hover tanks overhead, taking on the air forces. Again, everyone, get ready."

After several more minutes of clicking and clacking, of situating and searching, silence swept over the Nagasaki Confederate Armed Forces.

Suddenly, the hum of Nagasaki's shield generators pierced the dry, blowing wind of the dusty landscape.

The enemy was coming.

A distant scream was heard, almost beneath the sounds of the dry wind... It was not a scream, more that it was a roar. And it was coming, growing more terrorizing every moment, and in greater numbers.

"What the hell is that sound?" This question and several like it were heard among the battalions.

Colonel Dekker had never heard the sound before either, but he took a wild guess and stuck with it.

"Fighters! They're fighters! Secure your positions! Ready—"

His entire group pointed their firearms in the general direction of the sound.

"Aim..."

The reassertion of plasma rifles charging blocked out the roars.

"... Fire! For Earth, you bastards, _fire at will!"_

Several green and blue bolts of energy were shot into the air, into the heavens turned red by the Texas heat and the rising sun. Out of the red clouds, twelve TIE Defenders, seven Missile Boats, three Ekapshi light atmospheric fighters, and two Vaktoth heavy fighters swooped down upon the army and dropped their payload. Twenty-four small blue spheres—concussion missiles—hammered upon the shield-defended group, impacting with hard fizzles against the protection fields. Shocks of blue light phased over the soldiers.

In retaliation, eight Excalibur-class fighters burst through the shields of the Nagasaki Installation, their engines each producing their own screeching wails. Pulling a sharp forty-five degree turn, they shot after the Imperial and Cat fighters...

_They'll keep the fighters busy,_ thought Dekker. _But what 'bout the incoming ground—_

Over the hilly peak just north of the Installation, several lumbering structures trotted their way toward the armed group.

Dekker looked around as a siren was pulled, signaling the battle had begun and the Confederates could attack. Thousands upon thousands of rifle toting, shouting men and women moved over the landscape under the beating sun, towards the shapes massing so far away on the horizon.

For about a minute they all ran, until Dekker himself witnessed the several thousands of enemy soldiers up ahead of him on the hilly peak; the best of the Kilrathi Honor Guard, Kilrathi Marines, and Imperial soldiers with their _Dor-Chak_ bladed laser rifles, several black and white-clad shock troops—Stormtroopers—equipped with their own wicked-looking blaster rifles. Accompanying them were several hulking monstrosities—Imperial AT-AT and AT-ST Walkers, he understood—that were already bombarding the front lines with cannon fire. The rays of energy scorched the earth beneath them, kicking dirt in their faces. No one cared though, or even took notice. They simply ran through, firing their rifles over and over.

"By the numbers! Let's go, Marines! Move! Move! _Move!"_

_"Oo-rah!"_

After the short-range projectile combat, brutal mêlée battles began. Two or more Confederate Marines would take on the overbearing Kilrathi, some of which stood well over seven feet tall.

Dekker himself stuck to his non-plasma, ballistic C-47 Assault Rifle, staying low to the ground and taking part in a concentrated effort to destroy the chicken-legged AT-STs. Other Infantrymen whipped out cargo nets from their packs, and stretched them out towards the STs. While the mechanical warriors wound their own legs within the nets, trapping themselves, other soldiers fired heavily at their heads. After a minute or two, at least ten or so toppled over.

"They're targeting the Nagasaki generators!" the voice over the PA spoke again. "Take down those Walkers—repeat, take down those Walkers!"

"Get down!" Dekker shouted, his well-trained, magnetically-guided shots, both five-round bursts and concussion micro-grenades from his C-47's underslung grenade launcher, severing the leg of an AT-ST, sending it toppling over near two of his men. _"Get the fuck down!"_ The three Marines cleared the falling hulk just in time, leaping out of the way.

Most of the hovertanks moved ahead with the battlepods as escort running over the enemy infantry and barraging down the AT-STs. Behind those forces trotted the larger, more imposing AT-ATs, over twenty in number. The frontal command sections of the quadruped mechanisms fired their guns over and over again, their shots returned by RPG blasts from the Marines.

Besides the threat of the dreadful artillery, the shock troops, called Stormtroopers by some that had bothered to read the New Republic FYI files, were putting up a damned good fight. Their armor seemed resistant, but not impervious, to the Marines' arsenal.

His C-47 clicked empty as he unloaded four five-round bursts into the chests of three charging Stormtroopers. Slapping in a fresh banana-clip magazine, he took cover and took aim on the Walkers.

Finishing off a good portion of the AT-STs with the help of his men, Colonel Dekker began to take a good look around. Everywhere he looked, his men were getting slaughtered. Not easily, for they each took down at least one enemy soldier, but still dying nonetheless.

Dekker took out his com-link and opened a channel back to Nagasaki. "Gash to Nagasaki: it looks like we are getting our asses whipped and charred here around me. How does it look overall?"

A static-riddled voice answered a few seconds later. "The line is holding, Colonel. But yes, we are getting whipped and charred. It's those damned Kilrathi. We couldn't take them ten years ago on the ground, and we still can't seem to take 'em now."

Reluctantly, Dekker agreed. "Hell, I know. The more they come, the more this place becomes a slaughterhouse. What's their HQ? What's dropping them?" His voice was surprisingly calm and collected, considering that deafening explosions were going up all around him.

Many more seconds of static occurred, then finally a response. "That Hakaga-class supercarrier, the _Havahn ras Sivar."_

"The Hakaga! I thought that mother fucker had been blown sky-high by now... but that's beside the point—" Gash took a long moment to return gunfire to the oncoming Imperial forces. "A dreadnought like that iron bitch can carry thousands of troops. If that's the case, she needs to be hit from the source so my men get a breather down here."

The Nagasaki communications officer tried to assure Dekker, "Look, Colonel, we've got a fully capable force above dealing with it already. The capital ships will take the _Havahn_—hell, it can't handle the onslaught of three Vesuvius-class vessels."

His men were dying, and the Colonel was getting angry. "Damn it, you stupid console jockey, it's not just the _Havahn_ we've got to deal with. The Imperials are burning toward us with them. The capital ships have enough shit on their hands than dealing with just the _Havahn _and the _Vacillator._ I am saying it here and now: if we don't take down the _Havahn ras Sivar,_ then Nagasaki and many other major installations worldwide are already theirs—Confed just doesn't know it yet."

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER  
2680.364; 0505 HOURS (CST)

The "stupid console jockey," Lt. Hernandez Diego, listened to the Colonel's news. Over his shoulder was the overseer and commanding officer of the Installation, Admiral Adam H. Brooks. A 60 year-old veteran, bitten with incoming frustration and ongoing impatience, scratched his dark red beard that contrasted with his ivory white hair. Turning away from the communications console, he then stared menacingly at the holographic display on the dais in the center of the building floor.

He went over the choice in his head... the _Havahn ras Sivar_ would need to be dealt with, or his people would be dealt with instead—permanently. With that dreadnought up in orbit, Earth was a fading memory; the heart of the Confederation was beating slower and slower. Since Space Marshal Voight, CO of Sol Sector Naval/Space Force operations, had given him full authority of Nagasaki as its senior officer, the weight of responsibility and decision was heavy on his shoulders.  
  
"Diego," Brooks barked out from his silence. "I need a Marine Landing Craft prepped and ready to go in ten minutes. I want a full half-wing of Tigersharks or anything else that can fly and fight to assume escort on them when they break atmosphere."

The Lieutenant responded in question. "Sir, just one LC? You are planning to blow the Hakaga up from the inside, right? Wouldn't two or three be a better outfit?"

"We don't have two or three to spare, a majority of our forces our either out fighting these Dark Alliance' forces, or leading the evacuation of Houston. One is all we got, and we are gonna make it count. We have to make it count."

The communications officer turned back to his console, brushing the moisture out of his blonde hair. "Aye, sir," he said reassuringly, "One Marine LC is ready to go. Thirty soldiers are on board—"

"Good. Tell them to each carry one mini-thermonuclear device with them." The Admiral smiled. Things were starting to go his way.

A new female tactical officer with a smooth voice, pretty face, and dark complexion intervened, "Thirty twelve-megaton nukes...?"

Admiral Brooks suddenly blew up. "Yes, god damn it—_thirty fucking nukes!_ This isn't an inquisition! Our people on the ground, yes, are holding their own but it doesn't look that way for long. I want that Hakaga splattered across the atmosphere and I know thirty damned nukes will do it! Now, Diego, get that shuttle in order and send it the hell up!"

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER  
0545 HOURS (CST)

The tactical officer, soon known to the Admiral as Lt. Commander Shawna Muriel, informed her superior officer. "The Marines got in, but half of the fighters protecting her were destroyed, and the LC took a disabling hit to her port engine. They _did_ get in safely. The Marines are apparently combing and lining the internal spine of the Hakaga, centering around the engines."

"Good," commented Brooks. "When they blow the engine and the superstructure's spine the ship will do one of three things... One: collapse in on his self, Two: lose its drive capacity and start drifting toward Earth, burning up in the atmosphere and, Three: do both.

"Is it going easy on board, Marines?" he asked the battling Marines, implying that Hernandez would need to secure a channel.

Moments later, sounds over the comm were heard—screams, growls, energy pulses, then a voice. _"Dekker here..."_

KIS _HAVAHN RAS SIVAR;_ SECONDARY REACTOR CHAMBER  
0550 HOURS (CST)

"... things are getting pretty thick!"

Colonel Dekker took point down the darkened, dank corridor, the light of the concentrated firepower he and his men were pouring down it illuminating their way. Burly Kilrathi warriors poured out of every nook and cranny in the Hakaga's bowels, _Dor-Chaks_ firing away as their glowing felinoid eyes appeared in the dark. The Cats' plate armor was enough to stop at least a couple shots as well, which had to be factored in.

_"Get some! Get some, you furry fucks!"_

His C-47 clicked empty again after releasing a three-round burst into the head of one of the more aggressive Kilrathi. "Fuck!" he muttered. "Out of clips..." Throwing his rifle aside, he drew his M-44 Machine Pistol sidearm and took cover behind a wall pillar for the moment, letting his men take over for the time being.

As he leaned against the wall, waiting for the right opportunity to scramble back out, he watched as PFC Wesley Schmidt crawled toward him on his hands and knees. Blood flowed freely from his body, a thick crimson trail behind him. "C-Colonel..." the boy choked out, blood seeping from his mouth and nose. Dekker could see he'd been not only shot, but gored by the blades of a Kilrathi's _Dor-Chak_. "C-Colonel Dekker... I... I just want to go h... C-Colone..."

The Private's eyes dilated and he collapsed. His dead eyes were still open.

"Easy there, Private..." Dekker whispered. Gently, he closed the young man's eyelids. "Semper fi, mac." Gash winced, drawing himself back and forcing the image aside that threatened to bring back memories of Repleetah. He rejoined his men at the side of his senior NCO, Gunnery Sergeant Sedgley.

_"Dekker, what the hell are you doing on board?"_ Muriel asked out of turn over the comm of Dekker's C-512 Combat Helmet.

The Colonel, breathing heavily between sentences as he fired away at the oncoming Kilrathi, spoke, "My squad caught the LC just before she took off. I hope you bastards weren't expecting me to miss this party."

_"Yes, well—"_

"We've got about seventeen antimatter nukes placed around this muther." Even if he had to go out like "Big" Duke Grecko to bring the Hakaga down, it was going to happen.

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER  
0602 HOURS (CST)

The Admiral faced frustration once again, giving Muriel a harsh glance. "Seventeen?"

_"Yeah... this ship may have a mere skeleton crew on it but you have to remember that it carries ground troops, too. The other thirteen guys carrying their nukes were slaughtered... So seventeen better be our lucky number or Earth will start to become a gleam in the Kilrathi's eye."_

The Admiral wiped the sweat off his brow with his cuff. "Okay, Marines, I guess you've done everything that you can do. Make sure the seventeen are set, then get the hell off that ship—those are your orders!"

_"Hear you loud and clear on that one, sir!"_ Dekker came back.

Lt. Commander Muriel turned from her console minutes later. "Everyone alive is back on the LC, sir, departing off her belly right under the engines."

Brooks paused for a moment. "Well if they are departing, then—"

"Energy spike right above us, sir!"

Over eight miles above them, among waves of fighters and ships within the sea of stars, one bastard ship born of hate and revenge named the _Havahn ras Sivar,_ met its doom.

In a chain of belching eruptions, seventeen explosions burst from the spin of the underbelly, from the center of the _Havahn ras Sivar_ to the inevitable strike upon its fate: the engine core. The twelve-megaton bursts led to a final one-hundred forty-megaton burst from the three fusion reactors of the vessel, creating an aurora of destruction that emanated from within the ship, to outside around him. A blue-green expanding ball of fury took unlucky fighters of both sides, two Star Destroyers taking on heavy damage as well as, unfortunately, a Confederate supercarrier too close to the blast radius, taking her out of the battle and later hopefully to the drydocks.

But that was not its end, no. The spinning, fiery skeletal remains of such a warship survived the first phase of destruction, only to enter another. Safe-to-assume, the last Hakaga-class dreadnought, the singular might of the beaten Kilrathi Empire, began to plummet on a spasmodical re-entry course towards his hated destination: the planet Earth, just off the Miami coast.

_A fitting end for such an unfitting ship, _Admiral Brooks mused.

INCOM T-65C X-WING AA-301  
SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA  
0650 HOURS

General Wedge Antilles grimaced as the Darket he was tailing disintegrated, spraying debris across his shields. As the flickering cleared, he saw one Dralthi IV and two Dralthi Vs swoop down to attack him head on. He tried to evade, but their fire quickly boxed him in. As his advanced sensors warned him of an enemy missile lock, three pairs of advanced proton torpedoes and sets of quad laser bolts slammed into his tormentors.

The three Kilrathi detonated. Wedge barely avoided the large pieces of debris as his remaining squadron mates formed up on his lead. "Thanks, guys. I thought they were about to punch my ticket back there."

Gavin answered him, "Yeah, but their employment was termina—" His statement was cut off by a loud metallic whine directly behind them.

"Evasives!" Wedge called out, but the others were already pulling their fighters away hard. As he looked over his right shoulder, he saw the Tarkhan swing after Gavin. The fighter was huge, dwarfing the 12.5 meter-long X-wing that the Rogues were flying. "Gavin! Get out of there!"

"I'm trying, but I can't shake—" The nine tachyon cannon, their barrels ominously decorating the fighter and its turret, fired. To Gavin's credit, and the small size of the X-wing, he avoided five of the off-white beams, but the other four slammed into his aft shields. They punched through and ripped off his port strike foils and engines. The crippled X-wing span off, out of control, fire spilling from its ravaged left side.

"Gavin, eject! Eject _now!"_ Tycho called out. None of them even knew whether Gavin's comm was working.

Aboard his X-wing, Gavin pulled himself off the right side of the cockpit, where the centrifugal force of his spin had pinned him. He held on to his restraining harness, keeping himself centered in his cockpit, and sealed his flight suit. Sparks flew from the electronics. He knew he only had a few seconds until his fighter exploded. He reached down and pulled the ejection lever...

... Just as his fuel ignited.

KF-190 TARKHAN 405  
0652 HOURS (CST)

First Fang Kal'meht _dai_ Mirov _nar_ Ki'ra watched in delight from the safety of cloak as Gavin's fighter exploded. The smile he felt touched his features as he saw the pilot eject. He worked his fighter over so it was lying right in front of the pilot. Kal'meht savored these kills, imagining the fear the helpless prey surely felt as they stared down the barrels of his guns. He toggled a switch, and the great fighter decloaked. One of the Rogues strafed his fighter, the lasers causing his shields to flicker. The fighter's turret automatically followed the new target. Kal'meht cared little. His seven main cannons were more than enough to kill the pilot.

The guns autotracked into position as he fingered the trigger...

INCOM T-65C X-WING AA-310  
0657 HOURS (CST)

Gavin stared at the huge fighter as its guns locked on him. He drew his sidearm, even though he knew his small blaster couldn't damage the enemy ship. All of a sudden, another deafening metallic howl sounded right over and behind him.

KF-190 TARKHAN 405  
0701 HOURS (CST)

Kal'meht's eyes widened as the fighter materialized in front of him, its wings moving down until they were sitting more firmly against its hull. He pulled the trigger. Seven bolts of decelerated tachyon particles lanced forth at the pilot and the fighter behind him. They crossed the 20 meter distance in a nanosecond...

... And slammed into the black fighter's shields, leaving both the pilot and fighter unharmed.

_Impossible! No Terran fighter has shields that powerful! Not even a torpedo bomber's shields could take that much punishment._ Then he realized what he was looking at. One of the most feared fighters in Terran history.

_A Dragon..._

"No!"

The cannon on the wingtips fired. The twin glowing spheres crossed the distance in an instant, doing far more damage than Kal'meht's own guns. The Tarkhan shattered, and the white hot fireball consumed Kal'meht in an instant.

DRAGON 401  
0703 HOURS (CST)

"Ya-_hoo!_ The Calvary has arrived!" Major Frederick von Richthofen called out as the Tarkhan disintegrated, nearly knocking his forward shields down. He maneuvered his fighter until the ejected pilot was lined up with the emergency EVA airlock that replaced the old flashpak launcher. He opened the outer door and activated the small tractor beam inside. The hapless pilot was quickly pulled inside. Frederick cloaked his fighter and closed the outer door as he maneuvered out of the way.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101  
FORMER LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET  
0750 HOURS

General Maarek Stele pulled his Missile Boat away hard, afterburning through the tight turn on SLAM overdrive assist. The persistent Excalibur tailing him bore the markings of the Martian Homeguard. After what had been done to that planet, he knew his opponent would die before they stopped fighting. "I could use some assistance here," Stele said between maneuvers.

Another Missile Boat from his squadron shot by Stele's fighter, firing a pair of advanced torpedoes at point blank range. The two projectiles slammed into the Martian fighter's aft, knocking the fighter into a spin. Stele maneuvered back behind it and savaged the fighter's engines with his laser.

F-103-B EXCALIBUR 507  
0755 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris felt her fighter dying. There was a constant clanging as lasers ate away at her engines. The controls had been knocked out by the torpedoes. A screech, metallic groan, and a shattering sound signaled the destruction of her stabilizer. An internal explosion wracked her ship. She stared at the small photo by one of her MFDs, a picture of her husband, two-year-old daughter, and nine-month-old son. They had all lived with here on the Homeguard base, now a smoking crater in the Martian surface.

Tears ran down her face as she spoke, not realizing her comm was still on, "I'll... I'll be with you soon, my husband, my children." The Excalibur's engines exploded, and Michele Ferris finally rejoined her family.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101  
0757 HOURS (CST)

Maarek felt sick as his target exploded. The pilot's transmission hit him hard. Family. Home. Those were the things that he had missed for so long. He'd helped take that away from that pilot. Not only that, he'd helped to destroy it. Most of those Martian pilots out there didn't even have a home to return to anymore. How would he feel if someone destroyed Kuan, the home he had been torn from so long ago. His feeling grew to disgust as he thought about Alderaan and the many other planets ruined by the Imperial march. He'd even seen the look of loss and outright hatred in the eyes of Alderaanian Rebel prisoners.

"I-I... I can't be a part of this," he said aloud. "The pain the Empire causes. Not... anymore."

The Emperor's words from so long ago rang through his mind: "Those who would corrupt others, enslave them, and steal what belongs to us all must be stopped. It is time for strength. It is time to remove the last obstacles to peace, prosperity..."

Stele blinked the tears from his eyes, shaking his head slowly. Unity and strength. That had been his motto, the core of what drove him. He realized with a start that these Terrans had that. Sides that had once opposed each other bitterly now fought side by side against a common foe. Their strength was that of one defending their home. The Empire was moving to destroy that. Take away from these people that which Maarek held most dear.

_The day of our glorious absolution nears, Maarek Stele..._ a tiny voice echoed through the corridors of his mind. _You above all others must remain vigilant for the Empire..._

"No... not anymore..." Stele rasped aloud, shrugging off the voice from the past, his grip on his flightstick quivering. "Not anymore..."

He opened a channel to the _Vacillator_ as he flew towards the stern. The voice of Jhediah himself finally answered him. "Yes, Stele, what is it?"

"Jhediah, what you're doing, I can't be a part of," he said as he chose his target. "The Empire is a lie, but the Emperor had been right about one thing. It is time for strength. It is time to remove the last obstacles to peace and prosperity.'" His torpedoes gained their lock. "Grand Moff Jhediah, consider this my resignation."

"What?"

Maarek fired.

The pair of torpedoes was quickly followed by three more waves of torpedoes before he broke off. "All Confederation and New Republic fighters," he said, switching to their channel, "get clear of the _Vacillator'_s stern!"

SSD _VACILLATOR;_ BRIDGE  
0802 HOURS (CST)

_First the Hakaga, now this..._

Grand Moff Jhediah turned to Admiral Güthrig. "What has he _done?"_

"Sir! Incoming torpedoes. They're locked on to our port engines," Güthrig calmly answered, "They're... they're going to hit us..." He turned to Jhediah. His voice was cold and hard, "Maarek Stele has just defeated the Third Imperium. Yes, your touted Guardian of the Empire.' Indeed." He thought to himself that he might have been wrong about Jhediah in the end—wrong, that is, to ever have put any faith in him at all.

The fighters afterburned away from the Imperial Fleet. Seconds later, the first torpedoes struck. Maarek had not been targeting the engines, but the powerful cooling system that prevents the tremendous reactions from melting them. The cooling pumps and coolant reservoir were shattered under the impact of enough firepower to take down a Corellian Corvette Blockade Runner twice over. As the cooling system failed, the results were rapid in their forthcoming.

The massive nucleonic reactions within the engines melted the titanic engine bells. The fuel lines breached and the three engines, each larger than an Imperial Star Destroyer, exploded. The blast tore through the superstructure like tinfoil. The fireball stretched for kilometers as the ship heaved to starboard. The blast wave ripped off the left corner of the spear tip-shaped ship, shaving a two kilometers off the width of the ship and nearly three down its length. The internal structures were warped and torn, and fire and debris poured freely into space. The armor had been stripped off nearly to the main hangar recess, including the extra shielding around the immense Solar Ionization Reactor. Helm control was completely lost, and the once magnificent ship began to spin out of control under the asymmetrical thrust from the starboard engines.

Güthrig gave the order to abandon ship, even though Jhediah protested vehemently. Güthrig had guards force Jhediah to proceed with him to the hangar and into Jhediah's shuttle.

"Not going down with the ship, Güthrig?" Jhediah asked, seething with anger in a subtle manner that only Güthrig could have picked up on.

"No, that is the place of the ship's commander. The one responsible for the loss of the ship. And I'm not letting you stay."

Jhediah jumped back to his feet, swaying slightly as the shuttle took off. "How dare you speak to me that way!" Jhediah yelled. "It was your incompetence that has lost us this battle! Was it not you who I gave command in this operation?"

Güthrig glared at the man, his patience for his naiveté run out. "Sir, with all due respect—shut up!" While Jhediah thought of a suitable response, Güthrig sent Admiral Tschel orders to sound the retreat and to pick up as many of the _Vacillator_'s survivors as possible.

TCS _REYNARD;_ BRIDGE  
0810 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Henry Nelson shouted above the cheering as he ordered that their PTC hold fire as the _Vacillator_'s crew abandoned ship. The vessel was careening out of control, performing slow cartwheels through the void as Kilrathi and Imperial ships worked to dodge it. Finally, the bottom was perpendicular to the fleet, and gunnery worked out a firing solution.

Nelson smiled with satisfaction. "Fire the Phase-Transit Cannon." The _Reynard_ was filled with a loud humming as the gun sent the charge from its capacitors to its firing mechanism. The end of the barrel glowed brightly as the ship moved into firing position. Finally, the massive gun discharged a crackling orb of energy at the Super Star Destroyer. It slammed into the unarmored reactor, breaching its containment fields and unleashing the power of the core of the sun. The light from the eruption of energy was blinding to even the people on Earth, watching the battle in the night's sky, glowing like a new star celebrating Earth's victory. Proof to all the we would not go quietly into that dark night. Freedom's rage against the dying of the light.

The great _Vacillator_ was gone.

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ HANGAR 10  
0822 HOURS (CST)

His escape shuttle boarding Tschel's Star Destroyer, Jhediah held his head down in defeat. When Admiral Güthrig asked for permission to order the retreat, Jhediah merely nodded. One might almost say the Grand Moff was humbled. He had studied the greats: Thrawn, Daala, Vader, Isard, Zsinj, was careful not to repeat any of their mistakes, had lived up to the full ideals of the New Order, and yet he had failed. Was it the arrogance of Warlord Zsinj; perhaps the temper of Admiral Daala? It was no time to second guess himself, and the matter was effectively moot. He'd lost, and now the Third Imperium was doomed as the Empire that it was descended from.

The war was over, and there wasn't anything left that he could do about it.

Was there?

SUPER STAR DESTROYER _ECLIPSE III; _MAIN MEDICAL BAY  
HYPERSPACE  
0850 HOURS (CST)

"Cryogenic cycle complete."

The monotone, mechanical computer's voice resounded through the ghostly corridors and chambers of the Eclipse-class Super Star Destroyer to no response.

One by one the six pods in the chamber began opening, the hisses of pressurized air releasing being heard with the opening of each one. The six Imperial Royal Guard members rose in unison, already garbed in their armored crimson armor and helmets—thick suits whose streamlined cloaks did much to conceal the weapons at their disposal beneath. Each one picking up their force pikes as they stood, they assembled near the chamber's entryway.

"How long has it been?" Kelshaev inquired, the first to speak.

The approximate length of time escaped Ruoke's mouth calmly, "Ten thousand, five hundred years."

"We are still in hyperspace..." Kelshaev feared what the Imperial engineers had warned upon the _Eclipse III'_s voyage into hyperspace, that such a journey of unheard of time would shake the ship apart years into hyperspace. He shook off the fear, drawing confidence from the simple fact that the ship was still intact and they had awakened on schedule. Or had they? "Are we... at our destination?"

"We are well within the appropriate galaxy," Kir Layak was pleased to announce, giving a cursory glance at the readout on a wall console. "In five hours we will arrive at our destination."

"Then at last we will have our retribution."

"It is such. It is... his will."

"Let us then awaken him for our day of absolution... our day of deliverance."

The six Royal Guardsmen strode down the adjacent corridor, their crimson robes whirling behind them with every step.

Ruoke and Kir Layak were at the front of the two, three-man single-file lines that marched into the Secondary Medical Bay. The six Royal Guard members moved about in sweeping, graceful motions, as if every military step they took was under forceful scrutiny by a strict superior officer.

The double-doors to the Secondary Medical Bay hissed shut behind the six Royal Guardsmen. Enclosed in the chamber's darkness, lit only by the eerie green glow of the contents of the cryogenic tanks that filled the room like high-tech coffins, each of them immediately dropped on one knee and bowed their heads in unison.

"My leige... you are already awake," Kir Layak spoke, his voice low and meek.

"Your majesty..." Ruoke kept his eyes on the floor, away from his master.

This was the man, the Sith Lord, that had brought the Old Republic to its knees, the man that forged the Galactic Empire from its very ashes, the man whose very name had rightly carried supreme authority through his minions and fear across entire systems from the Galactic Core to beyond the Outer Rim, the man whose word alone had once brought about the near-total extermination of the Jedi Knights.

Emperor Palpatine, his wrinkle-less flesh putting his cloned body in his early to mid twenties—the peak of youth—rose from his cryo/cloning cylinder, membranous liquid and other viscous fluids dripping from his limbs. He licked his dried, blue lips and reared himself back at his full, regal height.

"Arise, my faithful servants." They did so. "So much there is to do... and so little time." He smiled, his sagely reptilian eyes traveling the chamber. "Yes... everything is proceeding just as I have foreseen it. Much we have sacrificed and long we have traveled... across galaxies... across time..." He dropped his grin. "It's time to end this."

**CONC...**


	8. Chapter VII

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Chapter VII : Deliverance

  
**THE SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA**

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR  
DEC 31 2680/2680.364; 0920 HOURS (CST)

By the Force..."

When, out of all imaginable impossibility, the Eclipse-class Super Star Destroyer the computers identified as the _Eclipse III _was plucked from hyperspace at the edge of Sol System, the bridge crew of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Death's Head_ fell into a frenzy.

Seventeen and a half kilometers in length, 500 turbolaser batteries, 75 ion batteries, 550 heavy laser cannon batteries, and a single superlaser at the keel of its dark mass—it was the most expensive, largest, single most deadly capital warship the Galactic Empire had ever dared construct.

"Relax, Admiral," Grand Moff Jhediah coaxed. "We've already forfeit the _Vacillator _and the Kilrathi's Hakaga... our trump cards have been played. Now that additional help arrives with the potential to rebolster our fleet and crush our now-withered opponents... you can honestly question it?"

While Admiral Güthrig went feverishly from crewpit to crewpit for the answer, Grand Moff Jhediah calmly stood beside his command chair. If one didn't know better, Jhediah seemed completely unconcerned by the matter.

"Where did that Eclipse come from?"

"It was our Interdictor Cruiser, sir," an ensign shouted from a starboard crewpit. "It pulled the _Eclipse III_ out of hyperspace."

"The _Vigilance?"_ Güthrig turned on his heels, facing the Grand Moff. Earlier he'd decided to ignore the Interdictor, which had seemed to be caught behind their flanks fighting an in-system rear guard. "But on whose orders was the Interdictor's commander acting? I want to speak to them at once."

"They were on my orders, Admiral," Jhediah spoke, calmly.

"What?"

Jhediah gave him a measured glance. "Emperor Palpatine had a great number of prophecies in his time... visions he would have his scribes document for the good of the Empire—specifically its future."

"You've been planning this all along, then..." Güthrig winced. "You've known..."

"Not everything, of course, but I knew what needed to be done." Jhediah folded his arms, smiling tersely. "Who do you suppose is in command of that Eclipse, Admiral? Who do you think?"

Güthrig's eyes widened with horror. "You... you can't be serious, Jhediah..."

"Communication incoming from the _Eclipse III,"_ a comm officer called.

"Put it on, Lieutenant."

A blue-tinted holographic projection of a hooded man appeared just before the viewports of the bridge.

_"I wish to speak to the current Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet,"_ came the figure's icy voice—there was no mistaking it, for it was Emperor Palpatine. _"I want to speak to him now."_ It contained less of the raspy overtones that came in the Emperor's later years, giving Palpatine's voice a decidedly youthful voice.

Grand Moff Jhediah approached the holographic transmission of Palpatine and knelt, his head tipped low. "I am eternally at your service, my liege. It truly is the day of your Empire's deliverance that now you yourself ha—"

_"Grand Moff Gillead Jhediah," _the Emperor cut him off._ "You have _failed_ me."_

Jhediah furrowed his brow and looked up. "I... I am unsure of what you mean, my lord. I have served you to the full bene—"

_"When you departed our galaxy your fleet was strong. Had you moved about this galaxy in modest strides, the Imperial Fleet would not be in the deteriorated state it is in now, the result of the decadence you have subjected it to."_ The hooded image of the Emperor leaned forward, repeating, _"You have failed me, Grand Moff Jhediah."_

"But, my lo—" Jhediah broke off in mid-sentence, the words caught in his throat. As his bridge crew watched on, the Grand Moff writhed, slowly buckling over on his knees, choking and gagging uncontrollably. He gave futile gasps of air as he clutched for his throat, the air simply no longer reaching his lungs.

Soon, Grand Moff Jhediah's limbs fell slack, the life gone from his youthful eyes.

Emperor Palpatine craned his wizened visage in the direction of Güthrig. _"Admiral Güthrig..."_

Admiral Güthrig froze in mounting terror, fearing what next words may come from the Emperor's lips, as they could be the last he would ever hear.

_"Admiral Güthrig, know now that I promote you to the rank of Grand Admiral. Beneath me, you are now the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet."_ He paused, letting that sink in. _"Do _not_ fail me, Grand Admiral Güthrig."_

Güthrig swallowed on a dry throat. "Thank you, your majesty," he managed to speak, but the Emperor's transmission had already cut out. Trying to compose himself in front of his bridge staff, he made a show of walking to the command chair formerly belonging to Jhediah. He looked to Admiral Tschel, the former CO of _Death's Head._ "You are now my executive officer, Admiral. Is that understood?"

"Yessir," replied Tschel, saluting.

"Oh, and..." He nodded at the crumpled body of Jhediah lying in a heap on the floor. "Dispose of... this, please."

As a pair of ensigns tended to the body of the late Grand Moff, Güthrig took his seat.

INTERDICTOR _VIGILANCE_  
0935 HOURS (CST)

Captain Vincent Gederin watched in awe past the ongoing battle as the eleven-mile long _Eclipse III_ passed his much smaller Interdictor Cruiser and waded into the pickets of the Confederation/New Republic fleet. _This battle is over, _he thought and allowed himself to laugh aloud. Hakagas and Dreadnoughts be damned; that is a _real _warship. His first officer nodded and he could hear chuckles around the bridge. Spirits were high as victory marched toward Earth.  
  
But the high spirits turned to gasps of terror as the Gravity Projectors yanked something new out of hyperspace: a pair of light carriers escorted by three Sheffield and two Murphy-class destroyers, one Tallahassee-class cruiser, and a freighter—he realized they must be the relief forces the slicers listening in on Confed comm traffic indicated had been recruited from the Gemini Sector, and recognized the strange freighter as that of the New Republic's General Han Solo. In seconds, fighters launched from the light carriers and began to attack the hapless Interdictor.

Before long it was all over.  
  
As, several minutes later, Emperor Palpatine issued his demand for Blair and Skywalker to the Terrans, Captain Vincent Gederin was watching from his escape pod as his former command burned in space.

TCS _MIDWAY;_ OPERATIONS PLANNING CENTER  
1000 HOURS (CST)

_"... I repeat again for the last time..."_ Emperor Palpatine reached the end of his transmission. _"Commodore Blair and Jedi Master Skywalker for mercy on your Terran homeworld of Earth. I do remind you that my flagship has the power to decimate Earth at my will. And as a demonstration..."_

In the only recently occupied OPC of the megacarrier _Midway, _CAG Patricia Drake and Senator James "Paladin" Taggart stared in awe at the communications holographic display. Meanwhile General Han Solo, his wife, Chief of State Leia Organa Solo, their daughter Jaina Solo, Leia's Alderaanian personal advisor and decoy, Winter, and Chewbacca the Wookiee monitored the Tactical HQ through their own channel on the _Millennium Falcon._

Through the viewports of the OPC a singular, vibrantly crimson Plasma Laser Cannon-like blast was emitted from the front of the _Eclipse III'_s hull. The tight beam lanced out, striking and atomizing the TCS _Fenrir_ in a quick, white-hot blast, tearing through it and striking the _Apostle_ beyond it nearly as hard, consigning the unsuspecting ship into oblivion with it. The two blackened, ripped apart hulls were thrown against the already-weakened, bare starboard hull of the TCS _Kyushu,_ breaching the hull on several decks before nearly taking yet another ship in its battle group as well, the Concordia-class TCS _Valley Forge._ It took the _Kyushu_ a few seconds for its hull integrity to collapse. The _Forge_ was luckier, managing to stagger off the momentum of its collision with only its starboard shields being damaged.

"Bloody hell..." Taggart whispered.

The washed-out figure of the young Emperor Palpatine, assisted in power and might by his Imperial Royal Guardsmen, could be seen dimly smiling before it winked out on the display dais. His demands that the apparent intergalactic twins Commodore Christopher Blair and Jedi Master Luke Skywalker would need to surrender themselves to the SSD _Eclipse III_ had been met. And, for the moment, the Second Battle of Terra that had involved the _Midway_ had ceased.

As the two twins left for the port-aft Docking Bay, others were not so eager to have Blair and Skywalker risk their lives alone. CAG Patricia Drake, Senator Taggart, and Marine Lt. Colonel Elsin Dixon—CO of the _Midway'_s detachment in Colonel Dekker's stead—automatically considered the next course of action.

"Those superlaser banks are charging," informed a young lieutenant.

"Well, superlaser or not, I won't sit idly by while two good men that've each saved their own galaxy's ass serve as bargaining chips for Earth," Dixon said scratching the back of his clean-shaven blond-haired head as he turned to the others. His beady eyes were tense with a yearning for action. Rather than being in a tactical center, he would rather be on a Marine LC right now where he felt he belonged.

The Senator scratched his thick black beard, agreeing. "Aye, lad. What d'ya plan on doin' about it? That big hulkin' Angel o' Death is sitting right on our doorstep and we are reading an energy charge on the countdown. Something is going to happen... And Blair'n Skywalker are big on the outcome."

"I say we set up that Angel o' Death' for one of our own countdowns," the CAG answered. "Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. I don't know about the rest of you, but I want to ring in the New Year in peace time."

Lt. Colonel Dixon slapped his assault rifle with a gloved hand and let out a war whoop. "Now that's what I want: less talking and more action!"

"Simmer down, ground-pounder." General Solo remained without confidence. "What do you have in mind, Drake? We can't blow that blasted vessel up. Even a whole fleet couldn't do the job!"

Uncharacteristically, Patricia let out her long dark hair from its band and ran her fingers through it. Everyone was tired and tense from the days-long battle, especially her. She had seen Earth in the same dire situation of possible global devastation over ten years ago and she wasn't about to let it happen a second time. "You're right. We can't blow that up," she said. Keying a sensor read-out of the _Eclipse III,_ her holographic schematics began to rotate on the display dais. "Her armor is thick enough to ram this ship even without so much as a dent."

Leia didn't need the Force to know what the _Midway'_s Air Group commander was thinking. "But we need to cause a disturbance. They can't have control of us all of the time, so we need to make this our battle."

Commander Drake paused, then spoke. "That's why I'm sending the _Midway'_s entire Marine division on board—what's left of our two brigades—to either take over the behemoth... or die trying. I will ask the Vesuvius-class dreadnoughts to submit their own troops... but for now the _Midway_ Marines are going in alone."

Chewie moaned sorrowfully.

"My fleabag friend here is right, Commander. Even with the troops you will send you could only round up maybe about two thousand—and that's on a good curve. However, the _Eclipse III_ is carrying a full complement, I'm betting, including one-hundred fifty thousand troops."

"And you already have whatever the _Defiance _can spare in the way of troops," Leia added.

Jaina, staring distantly into the stars, added, "It's a suicide mission."

Lt. Colonel Dixon straightened his helmet. "Exactly, ma'am, it's a suicide mission. Look, my people are always up for the fight but not when there is no a possible goal. Hell, I don't think we could even scratch that bastard ship even with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse leading us."

Pissing on the odds, the CAG wanted it done. "I guess I will talk to the sector Space Marshal and convince him to submit everything we have in the way of troops to overtake that ship. We can't just sit here.

"Lt. Colonel Dixon, you will lead your division into the ship through any access port you can get into. Once you get in, destroy anything you see on that ship: troops, machinery, computers, fighters... anything. If it lives, breathes, and unfortunately has an Imperial insignia on it, then it's dead. You got that?"

"Yes, sir, but we will need someone who knows Imperial ships inside and out to go with us."

_MILLENNIUM FALCON; _COCKPIT  
1004 HOURS (CST)

Jaina leaned over her two parents, looking forward to the CAG over the holo-comm. "I'll go."

The rest of the people on the _Falcon_ nearly wet either their clothes or their fur.

Han put the channel on mute. It wasn't right for two orderly military officers to hear a family quarrel. "No you are absolutely not! Didn't you hear what that Marine said? It's a _suicide mission,"_ Han retorted.

Jaina answered, rolling her dormant lightsaber around in one hand. "I'm a Jedi. I can take care of myself—it's not like I've never put my life on the line—first the Shadow Academy... the Diversity Alliance..." She let out a sigh. "Besides, the Marines need me... and Uncle Luke needs me. You know that. Isn't his life worth anything to you two?"

"How can you say that, Jaina? But hey, Luke can take care of himself. He always has. Jaina, you're a Jedi Apprentice still... a Padawan learner, as they were once called," Leia answered. Mara's Padawan by request, actually, but Mara was a long ways away. "If Luke wanted you to go—"

Jaina stood up determined already that she was going. Walking down the corridor to the lounge, she opened up well-hidden compartment. Pulling out a flak jacket she clipped it on over her black jumpsuit. "I don't care if Uncle Luke didn't tell me he wanted me to go. I need to go. Alone, if I have to."

Chewie growled lowly, while Han interjected, "No you are _not!_ You are not going alone."

Leia had a tight-lipped smile of satisfaction over Han's "foot-forward" attitude. But In response, Jaina spun around to answer her father's demands but—

Han answered her reaction, "You're not going alone because you're taking your mother's Noghri bodyguards with you."

Jaina shrugged indifferently. She'd always gotten along fine with the Noghri. "Fine with me." 

"And... Chewie'n I are going, too." Han put on a devilish grin.

Leia frowned, rolling her eyes at her daughter and husband. "Okay, fine. You win." She looked over the nearby officers' faces. "Do you have any more flak jackets for these two idiots?"

TC-10 HERCULES MARINE LC _CDS-933;_ COCKPIT  
1010 HOURS (CST)

Through the frontal cockpit viewport, the dark hull of the _Eclipse III_ only increased in measure as Commodore Christopher Blair guided the ship slowly and safely toward one of the hundreds of docking bays among the port side of the gigantic vessel. Neither Blair nor Luke Skywalker cared much for the situation. They were being forced to one path. Whether a path of darkness or a path of victory not even the Jedi Master could tell.

A full wing of TIE Defenders oversaw the lone Marine LC as she made her way toward the jet black mass of the _Eclipse III._ Blair viewed the small fighters not unlike the Ringwraiths of Tolkien Lore, who served the darker purposes of the Emperor, so like Sauron, and his domain, the _Eclipse III,_ or a somewhat more threatening version of Mount Doom.

This time though, Luke and Blair may have been serving the role of the ring. Together as one they had been sought... But would they have to be thrown into a lava pit? Blair considered, and considered and considered. For the last ten five minutes the tension had been building.

"Y'know, Luke, you've been awfully quiet."

"I'm thinking."

So was Blair. "What does your Emperor want with us? Answers? That's it, isn't it? He's going to interrogate us."

"No," Luke answered dryly.

Blair chose one docking bay among the many and plotted it into the Autopilot AI. Swiveling in his chair, he turned to Luke. "So what do you think he'll do? What will he say?"

Luke waited a moment, peering into a murky future. Even with years of training, he could not foresee into future events that well. The future was always changing, like tides of an ocean. "I cannot even guess."

Blair, frustrated, combed his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. "Jesus Christ!"

Luke smiled a bit, and broke the tension. "All right... what is this Jesus Christ' you Terrans keep referring to?"

"Not what, _who."_

"Okay, I'll rephrase it. Who was this... Mr. Christ?"

Blair turned back toward the controls, and giggled a bit. "First of all, no one has ever referred to him as Mr. Christ.' And second, he was believed to be a prophet by most, and the embodiment of one Divine Power by some."

Luke seemed curious. "This Divine Power'... do you mean the Force?"

Blair scratched his goatee. "Yes... no... I don't know. It's complicated. Uh, anyway Jesus Christ was believed by a group of people to have died for the sins of Mankind, and to have appeared afterwards."

"Like a Jedi?"

"No, no, no. Christ was no Jedi," Blair denied emphatically. Something then crossed his mind. "Wait. Jedi can appear after death?"

"In a sort of apparition, to an extent, yes..."

Blair scratched his head, then smiled again. "Sheesh, Christ being a Jedi. Who knew? That would explain a lot of things. I guess the Pope would be a sort of Jedi Padawan Apprentice or something if that's true... all she needs now is a lightsaber. I dunno."

Luke was curious again. "Who's this Pope?'"

Blair gave his alternate a sheepish glare. "Oh, just shut up and prepare for landing!"

EN ROUTE TO THE EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM  
SSD _ECLIPSE III_  
1025 HOURS (CST)

As soon as the two got off the Marine LC a full detachment of red-robed Royal Guardsmen escorted the doppelgangers forcefully off the shuttle, not speaking a word. Winding their way throughout the bowels of the gigantic vessel, the group turned this way and that through the seventeen and a half kilometer-long vessel.

Blair was marveled by the inner fancywork of such a dark and ominous capital ship. The pylons that supported the corridors they marched through were decked in gold and sometimes they were guided over ivory and marble bridges. A finely woven tapestry depicting battles or glories of the Imperials decorated every other door they passed. Out of all the vessels from the other galaxy, this one seemed built more for form than function.

There was a rustic quality to it, however. A sense that this was a vessel that could conceivably been around for a century... or much more.

"This Emperor Palpatine has fine taste," Blair whispered.

"More like sick taste, considering that everything you see here was built by or stolen from Imperial slaves and prisoners," Luke commented wryly. "Surprised the Empire was able to build a third one of these things. We'd imagined the first two had already bankrupted the Imperials... and that was _before_ Daala's _Knight Hammer..."_ He brought a hand to his eyes, rubbing them. He seemed out of it.

"Are you okay?"

Luke flinched. "The Emperor is the true epitome of the Dark Side in this galaxy and mine."

"A real Satan, eh?" Blair caught Luke's unknowing glance, realized who he was talking to, then shook his head. "Never mind... let's not get that started again."

Luke nodded gratefully. "I feel the Light Side being choked—being compromised—here."

"Don't worry, Skywalker. We'll get through this. Whatever he has in store for us, we _will_ beat him." Blair patted his belt. His white-bladed lightsaber was still attached. He'd been something of a wrestler in high school, but never any kind of swordsman or fencer. That still didn't stop him from being willing to use it at a moment's notice—he just hoped that was really the Force flowing through him, not bullshit. "Why haven't these guards taken our weapons?"

"The Emperor's wishes. Whatever you do, just concentrate on the Force. It is with you now more than ever, I can feel it." Luke placed his hood over his head, and gave his mirror image's hand a quick grasp for good luck.

_The Force is with you, Commodore Blair._

The two entered the cavernous throne room in almost total darkness. The stars through a circular viewport supplied the only light source. Blair noticed the massive fleet of Confederate ships outside, watching and waiting for the outcome of Luke and Blair's desperate sacrifice: themselves. As soon as they entered, the six Royal Guardsmen that escorted them left without a word.

"My trusted Royal Guard... you'll have to forgive them." At first, the voice echoed, and could not be placed. "They dedicate their lives to me... that is, despite the one who betrayed me, Carnor Jax... the one who corrupted my every clone. My every clone, however, save one." A barely audible chuckle could be heard. "But greetings, my esteemed guests. I have been expecting you, son of Skywalker, for a long, long time. A married man now, are you? Tell me, just how _is_ my trusted Hand doing these days?" Suddenly, a singular half-meter-wide beam of white light opened from the ceiling...

Presenting, even under a beam of white light, the brooding, black-clad figure of Emperor Palpatine. His bleak cloak masked his build, while his creeping hood obscured the top half of his face. His body looked young, no older than twenty-five. "And you, Commodore Christopher Maverick' Blair... the one with the Heart of the Tiger'... one of the last Pilgrims' in this galaxy." His beady, reptilian eyes settled on Blair. "You... are an oddity. Even I had not foreseen a being such as yourself in this galaxy."

To Blair, somehow, not even being captured by angry Kilrathi after blowing up Kilrah could compare to being face to face with the Emperor of the Galactic Empire. He found himself giving some credit to his earlier half-joking notion that he might be the Devil himself.

"I watched you die, Emperor," Luke spoke.

"Yes. You did," Palpatine replied, nodding. "Only it wasn't the first time, was it?"

"No. Six years after the second Death Star, my sister and I watched your clone blow up with the first _Eclipse..._ then almost a year later Han shot your last clone dead... I watched you _die_ inside Empatojayos Brand on Onderon."

"The madness beyond death could not hold me forever. Many among my ranks underestimated me... underestimated my clairvoyance to see through their thinly veiled schemes of treachery and betrayal. When you scrape them away, you are left with a select few of Imperials in my grand Empire loyal to me unquestionably. Just what did you think I was having Grand Admiral Thrawn doing in the Unknown Regions before his return?"

"The Hand of Thrawn is what he was doing," Luke replied. "While everyone thought you exiled him, you discreetly supported him. You ferried him what he needed—ships, supplies, and enabled him to expand the Empire's reach. My wife and I saw the maps."

"Ah, yes—quite the asset, that Criss proved to be. But do you suppose that was all? Running idle errands, perhaps? Maybe a tour of the frontier, you suppose?" The Emperor smiled.

Luke suddenly recalled when he and Mara had witnessed the Spaarti Cloning Cylinder that had contained a matured clone of Thrawn that was later disposed of. If the technology was out there... "Cloning facilities... there was more of them..."

The smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure malevolence. "There is _always_ another clone."

Luke stepped forward, his hood still covering his face. "Enough talk, Emperor. You have us, now move this ship away from Earth and power down the superlaser."

"Not so fast, Jedi Master," he answered, referring to Skywalker's title with venomous distaste. "We have a great many things to talk about, you and I—this Commodore Christopher Blair... he has the potential to be equally as adept in the Force as you are; a soul twin, per say. And your father...

"What do you know about your father? I mean: what do you really know?"

Luke was wary of where this conversation was leading to, however he would play the Sith Lord's game for the time being. "Not much, really..." He paused. "I never truly knew my father. Only what my Masters Kenobi and Yoda said of him—that he was a good man and friend who took the dark and easy path... under your corrupt instruction." The Jedi Master's eyes narrowed at Palpatine—borderline anger now. "Your seduction."

Luke turned his back to his nemesis, instead staring out the viewport towards the waiting fleet. They were probably all worried as hell, just watching and waiting. Han and Leia, maybe Jaina, too, were probably all frustrated.

Luke continued, while staring, "Darth Vader was _not_ my father. He was merely a perverse image of my true father, Anakin Skywalker—an image _you_ perverted."

"Blame who you will." Palpatine stepped out of the beam, standing behind Luke. "Anakin made his choice and he assumed the role of my apprentice, my enforcer, and my own personal Dark Lord of the Sith. And he was not evil... neither am I. We simply use only what is natural in the galaxy—hate, fear, and deception. He was a true symbol of might in the galaxy; the personification of my Galactic Empire and New Order as we together swept aside the weak Republic, their useless Senate, and the tiresome Jedi Council...

"The Jedi Council once believed Anakin Skywalker was the one referred to in the Prophecy of the Chosen One—a Jedi above all others who would bring balance to the Force. The truth is, they were wrong. The Chosen One was the Son of Skywalker. It is_ you."_

Luke spun around... it all made sense to him. His direction, his role in the galaxy, being "the first of the new" as Old Ben had told him so many years ago... "Then I have fulfilled the Prophecy of the Chosen One. The Dark Side, your Empire, reigned supreme for only so long. Ultimately, the Light Side struck you down, Palpatine, and your dark forces. I have fulfilled the Prophecy... and now I shall bring it full circle as I strike you down again."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Palpatine gave a glower at the Jedi Master. "Do you hate me so much?"

"Hate is not an emotion I know," Luke replied, his voice balanced and even. "Emperor Palpatine, I pity you."

Palpatine winced in annoyance. "The scales shall need to be tipped evenly again. Our time has never disappeared... it is true the Sith have dwindled, but they have always been. Long gone is the Golden Age of the Sith and the likes of Sith Lords as Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, and Freedon Nadd... the halls of the once-glorious Korriban reduced to a mausoleum. Now it is time for our return—and with you two as my chief lieutenants... my... Enforcers of the New Order, it shall be a glorious return indeed. Join me and we shall rule the galaxy—both galaxies—as I will show both of you the true nature of the Force. Compared to the ability to conquer and destroy with only a thought, even this vessel is nothing." The Emperor paused. "What say you?"

_Snap-hiss..._

A green blade lanced out from Luke's hand. It was his answer to the Emperor's question. His hood fell back off his head then, revealing a youthful face of pure determination that might have once belonged to an ambitious twenty-five year-old Councilor Palpatine.

"So be it, Jedi Master," the Emperor seethed.

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
1040 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the New Republic flagship, the maroon-skinned Admiral Ackbar sat frustrated in his rotating command chair, his whiskers trembling. "Sensors? What's the status of the _Eclipse III?"_

A gruff voice answered him through his headset, "All weapons are dormant... wait, her superlaser is charging again!"

Ackbar moved his chair, sliding down the control console to get a sensor feed. "What in the Force—"

"We're getting a message from the Imperials on a wide-channel frequency, Admiral," informed Lt. Commander Tannas.

"Play it."

In the middle of the bridge, a washed-out image appeared blurred but then focused. "This is Grand Admiral Güthrig, speaking on behalf his majesty, Emperor Palpatine, and his forces. All Terran and Rebel ships will stand down and surrender to the Imperial Fleet at once or you and the planet you protect, Earth, shall face destruct—"

Ackbar intervened. "Cut the link, and make a new one to Space Marshal Voight, Commander of Fleet Action in Sol Sector. He should be on the TCS _McKinley."_

"Channel open, Admiral."

A smooth-headed bald man with a black goatee wearing a dress uniform decked with medals and ribbons for every sort of merit answered. "Voight here. I know, _Defiance_—the Imperial message."

"Space Marshal Voight, I have fought the Empire for decades on end. I won't stop now. Not here, not ever. Even if Earth stands in the balance." Ackbar winced, remembering well his days as the slave of Grand Moff Tarkin. He had come a long way.

"Agreed. We Terrans aren't ones to give up easily just because things are rough—look at our history. We'd rather be dead than enslaved."

"Now I agree, Space Marshal. Reassemble your forces and concentrate your collective firepower on that Eclipse Super Star Destroyer. May the Force be with us all."

NEAR EARTH  
1042 HOURS (CST)

Outside, all capital ships quickly reformed and took flank upon one another. All at once, they synchronized their fire and began to hail streams of energy and projectiles at the shields and hull of the _Eclipse III. _To bolster the effort, even older capships were being called into action by the homeguard militia—ancient Exeter, Gilgamesh, and Paradigm-class DESRONs in the reserves of the First and Fourteenth Fleets and the UBW Navy joined the flanks of the Murphy and Sheffield-class destroyers. Equally ancient Venture-class corvettes and Waterloo-class cruisers escorted the Tallahassee and Plunkett-class cruisers, Los Angeles-class PTs, and Caernaven-class patrol frigates. Even the old, 720-meter Ranger-class light carrier TCS _Victory_ (CV-40) was there, recalled from its Saturn orbital museum by order of the sector's space marshal.

Yet the death vessel sat unmoving, almost ignoring the punches with her powerful point defenses. However, in the only response, several hidden compartments opened in the hull of the ship. Not just several compartments, but twenty.

Out of them, like great rivers, swarmed black fighters with appearances that matched the mood and sinister motif of their mothership. Two hundred fighters lined up in formation, standing between the newly formed Confed-New Republic fleet, and the Imperial-Kilrathi fleet.

"Good God! This is gonna be _murder,"_ General Antilles announced over the comm of his X-wing. "Pilots, be advised... those fighters are Shadow Droids—fighters hardwired with the brain tissue of deceased Imperial Aces." Another one of Umak Leth's murderous wonders. The Rogues had encountered them before, six years after the Battle of Endor during Operation: Shadow Hand. "Form up, be on the defensive, full throttle!"

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm really starting to wish the _Lusankya_ had made it through that black hole with the _Defiance..."_ mumbled Commander Corran Horn, referring to Rogue Squadron's captured Executor-class SSD headquarters.

"I hear you there, Rogue Three," spoke Captain Tycho Celchu, Rogue Two.

Two full carrier wings from the _Defiance_ and the _Midway_ moved in to intercept the Shadow Droids. Stingray was among them.

"Got it; I'm going in. Someone cover me." Major Dirk "Stingray" Wright maneuvered his fighter into the swarm, ducking and weaving the dark nimble vessels and their energy streams. He released a fury of dumbfires, most of them impacting on several within the closely-knit swarm.

But then a full squadron of TIE Defenders swooped down on top of him, barraging his shields and chewing up his armor with their concentrated firepower. Stingray took a sweep up towards the full squadron, releasing some IFF friend-or-foe missiles in hopes of breaking the TIE Defenders' formation.

Instead, the Defenders released a horde of chaff countermeasures. The missiles followed the chaff, leaving Stingray still open for a full attack.

He never had a chance, even on a good day. With the deliverance of another barrage of green energy, Stingray's already weak shields and scarred armor were compromised, while his Tigershark burst apart in several hundred pieces.

"Damn it, _no!"_ Several thousand kilometers away in the cockpit of his dying F-109A Vampire, Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley stared at the furious belch of flame, and looked again at his static-filled sensor MFD displays. "Damn it, kid. You did good." His voice was choked with pain. Patrolling around Hawk in his ejection pod were Antilles and Maniac...

"I'm sorry, sir... what did you say?" Maniac inquired.

Hawk fought back tears. "Nothing, Major... just this damned battle." It was no use. A single tear fled down Manley's cheek, never to be wiped away by his hand.

TCS _MIDWAY;_ BRIDGE  
MEANWHILE

Several hundred dark fighters bled from the _Eclipse III_ in a furious and unexpected splendor of force.

In reaction, Wilford commanded the first coordination. "Rigel-class ships, charge those PTCs and fire when ready at the enemy flagship." He paused, then swept a look over his bridge staff. "That'll knock that iron bitch out."

Four 800-meter Rigel-class stealth carriers—the _Necromancer, Apocalypse, Polaris,_ and the _Rigel_ itself, in addition to the 1,500-meter Fenris-class heavy carrier _Reynard,_ flanked by the flight wings of the TCS _St. Helens_ and 920-meter FRLS _Mjollnir, _assembled the first line of the fleet currently comprised of task forces of the First, Third, Seventh, and Fourteenth Fleets. All five of them were ready with their Phase-Transit Cannons, and discharged the blue pulses simultaneously at the Super Star Destroyer on cue. All five pulses were resounding direct hits.

Instead of obliterating the entire vessel, they left none of the extensive damage they were originally designed to do. Instead of deep gaping holes of fire and fury bursting from inside and out of the Super Star Destroyer, only scarcely visible red dots of damage compromised the vessel's black armor and powerful shielding.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101  
1044 HOURS (CST)

General Maarek Stele pulled his fighter off the docking racks, pushing his engines to a quarter of their capacity. Outside the hangar of the NRS _Defiance,_ where he had briefly spoken to the New Republic's Admiral Ackbar about his defection while resupplying his vessel, several wings of fighters on both sides of the battle proceeded to destroy each other at whatever the cost. Behind those waves of fighters and their supporting vessels, a shiny blue planet with people living on it sat, waiting for its fate.

_Much like Kuan... so much like Kuan..._

Stele pushed the comparison out of his mind, and instead channeled the Hangar Flight Controller. "This is Missile Boat One-Oh-One departing back into the foray. Weapons are hot, engines are gearing up."

Outside, flanking the six remaining Imperial II Star Destroyers was the _Eclipse III, _officially reported to be under the command of the Emperor himself.

_He is back... here and now. He is back._

A voice entered his head, a young man's voice, but all too reminiscent of another so long ago. _Guardian of the Empire, my trusted Hand... Come to me, Maarek; return to your Emperor._

Maarek looked once again at the blue planet known as Earth. The Empire was hours away from total domination of the planet, and from there they would only seek to conquer other planets, and then others and others. All because the Emperor demanded it so.

The Old Republic had been an alliance to fortify peace, a mosaic government that had lasted over five thousand years. When disorder had rotted the Republic from within, his Emperor had taken control in the name of peace. Now, that time of disorder was long gone... and imperial conquest was the only direction the Emperor had led their galaxy toward for his "New Order." Palpatine had wanted conquest and control, where peace and prosperity had needed to be restored to the time before corruption... before the Galactic Empire.

Maarek had endorsed the New Order, first by letting Kuan and the entire Taroon System be taken by it as a young man and then enforcing it himself—in the name of the Emperor and His Great Word. And now he had crossed the point of no return by trying to take another world, in another galaxy even, under the Emperor's New Order.

Not again, not ever again.

Stele clenched his fist, feeling the ring he wore beneath his glove. It was the ring wrought of platinum with two onyxes and an emerald stone set in it, cased in the purest of gold.

"This is means by which you will pass on the true leadership of the Empire, once I am gone," the Emperor had once told him before his fate on Onderon. "One day, you will have to use your judgment to find an heir to title of emperor. I trust you will choose wisely."

That was fifteen years ago. Maarek still bore the intricate mark of the Emperor's Reach, a dark crimson tattoo on his forearm that told of his place in both the Emperor's Inner and Ruling Circle.

_Come back to me, Maarek; come to your Emperor. I have returned..._

Maarek choked down his emotions, knowing they would lead him down the wrong path. Fear, anger hatred... Palpatine would only use them against him. Stele's response was short, simple, and yet oh so clear:

_Fuck off, your Highness._

Kicking his fighter into full throttle, Stele screamed by the_ Defiance'_s escorting 300-meter Nebulon-B Frigate_ Liberator_ toward a full squadron of Defenders that had just chewed out a Confederate fighter. Bearing down right on top of them, he released full guns at full power and proceeded to release the squadron's pilots of their lively duties. One by one each were obliterated with only a remaining green burst of illuminated gas.

Screeching through the scattering debris, the General moved toward an assembled flight of the dark Shadow Droids.

SSD _ECLIPSE III; _EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM  
1026 HOURS (CST)

Luke swung his lightsaber up over him, slashing downward hard and swift against the dark figure of the Emperor who stood in front of the viewports.

"How I do detest violence..." Within a blink, Palpatine flicked his wrist, revealing a long-handled lightsaber that spat out a blue energy blade with an equally disturbing_ snap-hiss._ Without turning he swung the blade up over his head, blocking Luke's slash, and then he turned.

His black cloak flew off his body, revealing young, thin and muscular toned flesh and body covered with leather and barbed gauntlets around the wrists. A jade Sith Medallion on a silver necklace lay on Palpatine's neck, shining eerily with a dark power.

The Emperor threw Skywalker's blade off, arcing down toward the Jedi Master's legs. Luke jumped, barely missing the energy blade. In the air, Luke swung himself around, swinging his blade toward Palpatine's neck. With futility, that move was blocked by a quick jab upwards of the blade.

Curving Luke's lightsaber off him, the Emperor jumped completely over his foe, and arched his blade once again toward Luke in back. Luke pulled a full reversal, and jabbed his blade upwards himself to compensate, successfully doing so.

Suddenly, the Emperor became somewhat furious. With a strong and totally violent slash, Luke was knocked off with such force from the blow. With his blade already in tried position, Palpatine could only use a swift kick to Luke's chest. Skywalker was stunned for a moment, but was not fazed indefinitely. He repaired, spinning around in his own violent rotating slash.

The Emperor, with one hand repairing from a violent slash and a leg already exhausted from a violent kick, used one last move. While his opponent was in mid-air, the young Emperor's other free hand spanned out, releasing dark energy...

Purplish-bluish energy streaked and crackled out from his hand and all upon Luke's body, making the Jedi Master writhe in pain. Luke fell to the ground, his lightsaber extinguishing.

With a maniacal laugh, the crackling energy ceased, leaving Luke still in shock and paralyzed. "And now, Jedi Master Skywalker..." The Dark Jedi regained mastery over his lightsaber, and began to draw it upon the fallen Jedi, "... you _will_ die."

"I don't think so."

_Snap-hiss..._

In a dark corner of the Throne Room stood Commodore Blair, his white-bladed lightsaber up and ready.

The connection to the Force was fully made, like a shock of realization, when Blair ignited his weapon. It did not feel awkward, as he might have expected, but somehow... _right._ A blanket of senses overcame and overwhelmed him. It was like he could hear whispers of thoughts all over the ship, and he had eyes anywhere and everywhere. A strong sixth sense. All at once, he knew things... peace, love, understanding and all their capacities to help and guide others. He at last understood what the Pilgrim Karista Mullens had been trying to teach him of the Pilgrim powers he had within him twenty-six years ago on the TCS _Olympus._

He knew the Light of the universe.

Alas, a darker force stood on the rim of his awareness, in a single spot as a single entity. Serving as a pillar of hate, fear, deception and power and promising Blair's deepest desires through domination and deceit.

He knew the Darkness of the universe.

_Beware the Dark Side, Chris! _Luke beckoned. _Fight the Emperor out of protection of Earth, not because you hate him. He will use that hate to his advantage! Do not lose you battle with the Dark Side as he has. The Force is with you... always._

Christopher Blair was ready in a fighting stance, and moved slowly and silently toward Palpatine.

Luke broke from his pain for a moment, rolling toward Blair, and then stood next to him, re-igniting his own green-bladed lightsaber. The two moved toward Palpatine even further...

The Emperor responded in kind, backing up slowly. Turning his questionably long-handled saber parallel to the ground, he pressed another button on the grip. With a threatening vibration in the air, yet another blue energy blade spat out from the other end, creating for the Dark Jedi's use a dual-bladed lightsaber or lightquarterstaff.

Luke tried to control his fear. The last man to use one of those was the Dark Lord of the Sith before Vader, a tattooed alien with the Sith name of Darth Maul. He was a master over it, as he had later learned Maul had, in the years of disputes and bickering prior to the Clone Wars, struck down the renown Jedi Knight Ben had been apprenticed to, Qui-Gon Jinn.

_Of course,_ the Emperor responded to Luke's inner thoughts, _who do you think taught him how to wield such an effective weapon?_

"You were his master," Luke spoke. "Even before you were Supreme Chancellor Palpatine... even before you were Senator Palpatine... you were Darth Sidious."

The Emperor did not seem surprised at the identification, as if puzzled that such a thing would even be considered a mystery. "Prepare yourselves!"

Luke and Blair, both with their lightsabers, swung down and swung down hard upon his Highness.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101  
1050 HOURS (CST)

Maarek charged through another devastated squadron of Shadow Droids, taking down twenty-eight so far. Each time they had become faster, more intelligent and more aware of Stele's piloting skills—as if the next SD couldn't be taken down in the same way as the last one.

The General suspected that the fighters coordinated by each other, relaying tactical and sensor data. So each new target he locked onto was smarter than the last.

The former Imperial checked his HUD, and to his fear and amazement, a full squadron had locked onto him, swarming over him. Stele didn't have the element of surprise on his side this time, and could only release several chaff pods while spinning and punching his afterburners.

First one shot from the squadron tainted his shields, then more and more blasted down his shielding.

_No... not like this. Never like this! If I am going down I will take as many as I can down with me!_

The General jerked his fighter toward the_ Eclipse III, _bearing toward one of several of the docking bays... he planted a course in his mind toward Hangar 234, near the massive engine compartment of the mighty behemoth.

Saw-toothing upward and downward to beware of laser fire from his six, he quickly allocated power to his engines, running them over the safety limits. Quickly his two ion engines began overheating.

"Danger: engine meltdown in thirty seconds," a calm male computer voice announced within the pilot's headset.

"ETA until Hanger 234?"

"Twenty-eight seconds, twenty-seven, twenty-six"

The chasing SDs continued to fire relentlessly, and Maarek's already-weak shields began to phase and flicker.

"Hold together, baby, so you can burst apart later," Maarek could only joke at his impending, triumphant doom. And then he remembered something. Flicking a switch, he looked at his fore and aft HUDs. In a rear view, past the chasing fighters, sat a blue marble of a planet.

"Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen..."

With one last precaution, Maarek fired at the containment fields of the hangar's entrance, blasting through them and allowing his ship a quiet entrance into the vessel. All the _Eclipse III'_s defenses were being concentrated on his new friends, the Allied Galactic forces. His friends...

Keying an open channel, he had fourteen seconds left. "This is General Maarek Stele, traitor to the Empire and now a member of the New Republic. I let the Empire take my parents and my world of Kuan, and I joined them in their mission of conquest. Now I realize I was mistaken, and I will now pay the ultimate redemption. To any New Republic vessels that can hear this message, tell my mother, Marina, what I did and whom I did it for. Tell her... tell her I know who I am now. End of message."

"Five, four, three..."

In a rear view, past the swarming fighters, sat a blue marble of a planet.

"Two—"

_So much like Kuan..._

Maarek's spinning fighter, upon forced entry into the hangar, exploded immediately and violently.

KIS _VHAS'KARATH;_ FLAG BRIDGE  
1055 HOURS (CST)

From the viewports on the bridge, the explosion of the suicidal Imperial-turned-Rebel's Missile Boat could be seen in all of its glory. It caused a chain reaction—the other hundreds of fighters positioned for take-off on their docking racks blew up one after another in what could only be described as a domino effect. One by one, closer and closer to the engine compartment, they exploded.

From outside, the _Eclipse III_ visibly rocked. A line of fire cracked and burned down the hull of the Super Star Destroyer, running down toward the engine compartment. The ten or so engine nozzles each burst, taking down a good portion of the aft section of the ship. Gases and electricity spat and arched respectively over the aft of the vessel, crewmen and machinery spilling out and sucking vacuum.

The cheering of the Allied Forces could be heard over the _Vhas'karath'_s comm. The _Eclipse III_ was not going to leave this fight.

With a sudden growl of pleasure, Baron Thokkarh's Shintahr reported on the situation, "Milord, the largest Imperial ship has faced a crippling blow. However the Terrans are being pulverized by their black fighters, as are their capital ships albeit at a slower rate."

"Show me."

On the dais in front of the Baron's command throne, an amber-tinted three-dimensional visual display projected the image of the _Eclipse III,_ minus her massive Sublight Drive engines.

His Shintahr continued, "The other Star Destroyers are moving in to protect that damaged area. The Death Ship is still a formidable battle station now, if nothing else now. The Imperial forces are facing a running death now, milord, if our forces were to—" The First Officer caught his own tongue. He would not propose betrayal.

But the Baron would.

"If our forces were to... join the Terrans against these oppressors, the Empire would be overcome with _gatagak'vu,_ and the Terran would be able to defend successfully their_ Nak'tara._ But your lordship, do you really order betrayal?"

"In the Eyes of Sivar, betrayal is our only option. We have allowed these Terrans of a different coat to take advantage of us, to use us for their own glories. We are... pawns. We will trick them as our ancestors tricked the Shata and Utara for the secret of Jump Drive." Thokkarh growled with an insatiable rage. "Order our forces to attack all Imperial vessels, and move to defend..." he paused, the words he would next speak being difficult ones, "move to defend the Terrans. Only they can help us now."

SSD _ECLIPSE III;_ LEVEL 214, A SECTION  
1055 HOURS (CST)

"Marines!" Lt. Colonel Dixon exclaimed at his men. "By the numbers, jarheads! Prepare to deploy!"

"Sir!" responded Gunny Hardison, Dixon's senior NCO. "You heard the man, ladies. Positions for boarding! Standard dispersal pattern! Move! Move! _Move!"_

Fifty Confederate Marines, one rough-looking humanoid, a big furry seven-foot Wookiee, three-Noghri honor guard, and a short woman brandishing an energy sword of purple luminance ran through the dark, foreboding corridor of the _Eclipse III'_s Level 214, A Section. The team blasted and cut down whoever and whatever got in their way. They romped through the grungy looking corridor, contrasting with the luxurious upper levels meant for senior staff. 

Meanwhile, Dixon argued with the rough-looking smuggler and her lightsaber-brandishing daughter. "Hey, you listen up, Warrior Princess! This is a Marine Operation and I'm the OIC!" He looked around. "Just who the hell put this little girl in charge?"

Chewbacca took a step forward and growled threateningly a bit, while Han moved in to quickly translate, "My, ah, tick-magnet of a friend here is right. You see any other Jedi around here? Do you?"

"Jedi, schmedi. Sounds like a fucking fungus." Dixon spat, nearly hitting Han's boot. "We've been running our asses off for almost an hour, and what has it gotten us?"

"A lot closer to the main superlaser batteries, I can tell you that much!" Jaina yelled behind her. "Do you feel that? The closer we get the more stale and hotter the air gets."

Chewie let out a woeful moan.

"I know, Chewie. I'm ready." Jaina stopped her running, leaving the whole cadre standing ready on an access bridge between sections. Behind the cadre, the blast door they just went through closed behind them all.

Han whistled. "Great, sweetness. Now we're sitting Tauntauns right here."

"Well, do you hear that?" Jaina asked.

The whole team stopped. The only sounds audible to them were the hum of the ship's fusion reactor, several hundred levels below the bridge.

"What the Force! Marines, turn around and get ready for that door to open! A full battalion of Darktroopers is about to flood in! My father, General Chewbacca, and myself are gonna protect us against this door." Jaina pointed to the door they meant to go through as the Marines began to recheck their weaponry and assemble themselves into a defensive posture.

Han whispered to his daughter. "And what's heading through that door?"

"Trouble. Big trouble." The Jedi Apprentice ignited her lightsaber, shaking her hair out of her way and moving into a defensive posture herself.

Suddenly, with a wrenching squeal, both blast doors opened up. The one the Marines faced spilt out black-armored, red-embroidered Darktroopers that packed wicked-looking BlasTech blaster rifles. Immediately the Marines opened fire with their M-58A1 Laser Assault Rifles, M-47 semiauto laser guns, and SMGs, skillfully mowing them down in tight, controlled bursts.

As for the door that Jaina and her family were to defend against, nothing spilt out just yet. Instead, the door tore open to reveal three fully imposing crimson-robed Imperial Royal Guardsmen—masters of the Martial Art of _echinra, _Jaina had heard—ready with their two-meter force pikes in hand.

The three were silent, and moved slowly away to reveal the rest of the corridor. It was then that three Destroyer Droids rolled out, moving quickly to plot themselves down and open as their laser cannons propped out. There was a flicker in the air as their bubble shields activated.

"Oh..._ shit..."_ Jaina muttered.

"Shit?"

Quickly, the Destroyer Droids began firing off their automatic cannons.

Each bolt was quickly deflected by perfectly-timed swings of Jaina's lightsaber, while Han and Chewie fired their energy weapons towards the droids from any cover they could find. The shots were harmless against the shield-protected machines.

"This is gonna get us nowhere!" Han yelled over the sounds of energy blasts and high-pitched screams.

"Draw their fire! Cover me!" Jaina hollered, the other two moved up next to her, reinforcing their efforts.

Jaina took two steps then concentrated, for one second she paused then she somersaulted right over the three droids while her father and her hairy friend drew their opponents' fire. Landing behind them, the machines had no time to pivot to their rears before Jaina sliced each of their cannons off in one sweep.

Jaina followed through on the sweep, pivoting around, facing the three Royal Guardsmen. Within another second, the three had their blasters drawn out from under their thick robes and point-blank straight at her skull.

"Not even a Jedi Master can get out of this one, little girl," one of the three announced eerily.

Without warning, three green pulses of hot energy lanced from Chewie's bowcaster toward the three.

The trio disappeared, washing away from everyone's vision, while the pulses rushed right by.

Suddenly a red flare flashed at Jaina's back, casting her down to the ground. Two other shocks from the invisible Guardsmen's force pikes had her crawling.

_"Can't move... can't concentrate,"_ the girl gasped. The force pikes were sucking the energy out of her, and replacing it with pain.

Han's eyes filled with determined anger. "Chewie," he ordered, "Set your bowcaster on wide spread!"

A whine filled the air, and a green wave flashed over Solo's daughter. In the energy mist, the three Royal Guardsmen were stunned to the deck plate. In their weakened states, Han went the extra mile by taking them out personally. The three went to the ground with not even a groan.

"No one pikes my daughter when she is down."

The two ran over, stepping over the bodies, and picked Jaina up by her shoulders. "Come on, we're clear and open. Let's move!" The whole team began running across the bridge into B Section.

ROGUE SQUADRON, NEAR EARTH  
1130 HOURS (CST)

"General Antilles here again," Commander Corran Horn heard Wedge speak over his comm. "The Imp ships are starting to wear down and these Kilrathi ships seem to be on our side now... although they appear not to be holding any communication with us as of yet." 

Wedge pulled his X-wing into a point defense on the stern of the _Defiance, _with several squadrons of other X-wings, flanking Y-wings, several B-wings, numerous A-wings, a handful of K-wings, and a lingering squadron of exhausted and damaged E-wings.

Joining the remaining entirety of the _Defiance_ wing was an equally exhausted portion of the _Midway_ support wing—sixteen Panthers, thirteen Devastators, seventeen Tigersharks, twenty-one Wasps, and eight Piranhas.

"Lt. Talvert here, adding support to the _Defiance."_

"Thanks, Confederate, it looks like the SD fighters are dwindling to about sixty ships and counting," Wedge responded.

"You got that right, sir. Plus these Cats seem to have gone sour on their friends... good for us."

"I copy on that one. Where's the rest of the _Midway'_s three fighter wings?"

Stiletto sighed over the comm. "Half of them are either dead or in the Recovery Bay getting repairs. We had a shakedown compliment of fighters anyway, but we have the bulk of our fighters in BARCAP point defense of her."

"Good, I don't want the _Midway_ left high and dry." Antilles paused. "Let's get back to business now, pilots. You people take out the remaining Shadow Droids while my team and the bombers will go after the lighter capital vessels. Break and attack!"

On Wedge's lead, the remaining X-wings broke and moved off towards one of the last Imperial Star Destroyers and the lingering Wasps followed after slowly. Quickly, the Wasps swarmed close to the wedge-shaped monster, making long strides over the destruction of her weapon arrays. Several Kilrathi Darkets had already been concentrating on her shield generators earlier before the group had arrived.

_"Ah, fuck! Fuck the universe and fuck me, too!" _one Wasp pilot yelled over his channel to the universe at large, as a pelting from a turbolaser battery ripped off both his engines. However, that didn't stop the pilot from firing his energy weapons until he collided into the command section of the starship.

"In honor of that guy, at the next stop we'll have a round of pale ale on me!" Captain Tycho Celchu offered over the channel. 

"Gavin, how are you doing at your end, kid?" Commander Horn asked a moment later, concerned.

Lt. Gavin Darklighter's X-wing—a new one he had gotten from the _Defiance, _where Major Richthofen had taken him after he'd ejected—didn't even resemble the standard model anymore. Two S-foil wings had been clipped off, one of his engines was out and shooting flame and sparks, and his front fuselage was scorched. "Not so hot, buddy... Oh damn, my shields are conked out, my armor has gone to the Sarlacc Pit and back, and... I've got a hull breach. Oh... oh damn, oh da—"

"Kid! _Gavin!"_ Wedge cried out.

The kid's scorched X-wing exploded as it took another hit from a passing Shadow Droid. His scream would never be heard; his communications array had gone to slag beforehand.

_Out with a bang... just like his brother; just like Biggs._

Corran punched his throttle. "That's it," choking back tears, he spoke "let's finish this."

SSD_ ECLIPSE III;_ EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM  
1140 HOURS (CST)

Blair swung his lightsaber sharply towards the Emperor, but in reaction the Sith Lord jumped and swiftly kicked him in the face. With one side of his energy blade toward Luke, Palpatine thrust toward the Jedi Master, though only to be knocked curtly off.

"Insolence... if you two only knew the scope of what I am offering you... if only you weren't blinded by arrogance..."

Drawing upon strength and intuition he never knew he had, Blair flipped himself up off the ground, and somersaulted upon the Emperor, deftly crashing his lightsaber down upon him. It was a move only to be blocked by the Palpatine's left energy blade. The other blade was arced and blazed down on Luke, who rolled behind the Emperor.

"Fools... both of you!"

Palpatine raised an open hand at Blair, Force-Shoving him with his influence into a dark corner while he took his left lightsaber and struck it toward Luke. Skywalker blocked it, while the readjusted Blair parried his opponent's right blade.

Luke swung his lightsaber towards the Emperor, but in reaction he jumped and swiftly kicked him in the face. Lunging and twisting, Palpatine regained the offensive and counterattacked, using both ends of his lightsaber in an effort to cut Blair's legs out from under him. With his other blade toward Luke...

SSD _ECLIPSE III;_ LEVEL 490, D SECTION  
1200 HOURS (CST)

"Here it is, I think," Han announced, entered the large cavern of power generators and worker droids. Inside the section it was blazingly hot, not unlike Tatooine's Dune Sea. Several layers of pipes and runners surrounded by thick red coils took up most of the area, contrasted only by an overseeing ten meter-wide catwalk that the cadre stood on now.

Dixon moved up toward Han, straightening his helmet. "This has to be it. I ain't wasting any more time."

Jaina looked around, feeling something nagging in the back of her mind. _This is all too easy._ "Let's move. Lieutenant Colonel Dixon, from your readings, when should this superlaser go off?"

Tapping his headset, Dixon paused, but the answered, "Chatter on the Imperial Network seems to indicate that this sucker has an hour until Earth becomes a ball of mush."

Han was dripping with cynicism. "Then look here, hotshot, we are getting off this moisture farm in half an hour!"

"Half an hour it is sir, right away, sir." Dixon addressed the rest of the Marines, "Marines! Let's set up! Get the charges lined across the pipes, and some down the coils."

"Here, Dixon," Han started running with the troops. "Let me help you people. I've blown more than my share of power plants in my day."

As they all ran, the Marines' armor and boots clicked and clacked. "This is unusual, General. I would expect such a volatile part of the ship to be under supervision, wouldn't you?"

The smuggler-turned-hero huffed and puffed. He was not in for this sort of activity, especially after the kilometers they already spent getting here. "Well, after the Empire took a downward spiral, getting recruits became one of their secondary problems. Skeleton crews were the most any ship would usually have, and sometimes less. The Empire would make up for it..."

Above the running group, an automated laser turret ran on a set of rails.

"... By building better worker droids and automating more and more of their systems."

Suddenly a blinding frenzy of light rained upon them, turning the metal catwalk beneath them into slag.

"Father!" Jaina had not run alongside with the group, instead she and Chewie had chosen to guard the entranceway. She pulled hard on the Wookiee's shoulder fur. "Blast that turret to pieces!"

When Jaina looked again at the group, Han and Dixon were already laying on the ground writhing in pain. Solo was caressing his leg, while Dixon was not moving at all.

Jaina looked back at Chewie, who was growling and pointing up to the laser turret.

Jaina, understanding only a bit of his language, accordingly only understood a bit what he said. "Damn—it's shielded."

Dixon's ExO, Major Valtane, spoke, "What do we do? Evading those shielded turrets and ship security and setting up these explosives is gonna be next to fucking impossible."

Jaina considered a moment; silent while the others rushed to get Han and Dixon. "That's why we are leaving. Have them take these two and order everyone to get back to the ship."

A tear streamed down Jaina's nose. _I tried, Uncle Luke. I tried. You're on your own now..._

SSD_ ECLIPSE III;_ EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM  
1215 HOURS (CST)

Lightsabers scraped, grated, and crackled against each other, and the throne room echoed with their fury.

Again, Blair was thrown down from an unexpected Force Shove by Palpatine, rolling to exert the momentum of the shove. His lightsaber charged up again and back on his feet, within the same second he swung down hard upon the Emperor's blade, controlling his frustration.

"Yes... you can feel the hatred within you, can you not, Blair?" the Emperor prodded.

"I know I don't have to tell you not to listen to him, Chris," Luke said. "Don't lose your battle to the Dark Side as he has." Luke's hooded cloak had been cast off finally minutes ago, giving way to his black jumpsuit and sweat-drenched body. A deep, cauterized cut raggedly tempered his right arm, a grazing from the edge of Palpatine's near-missing swing earlier.

Blair had been doing well, considering his first time in a true duel. His form had been swift, and fast, just what had been needed facing a dual-bladed lightsaber. Although he had taken a number of scrapes and bruises in the past hour of fighting, Blair was not letting up by any means.

And still the crackles and pops of four energy blades colliding echoed on in the throne room.

The battle wore on, and for a time it was fought evenly. Finally, Blair opened up a spot for Luke. With a hacking curve, Blair caught the Emperor's blade and spiraled it around for a moment, catching his attention. Luke took the diversion, moving into the Emperor's close quarters and brought his own lightsaber over and down with such force that he severed the dual-bladed lightsaber in two.

As his blade-end facing Luke extinguished, Skywalker took the further move and lopped the Emperor's hand off at the wrist.

"Curse you, Skywalker!" Palpatine reeled back and howled in extreme pain, dropping down in front of the steps to the viewports showing the battle outside.

"Now how does it feel, your majesty?" Luke commented wryly, stepping over him in an imposing manner. Blair extinguished his blade, and stepped behind Luke. "You shall now give the order to surrender this ship, and you yourself shall be taken into the custody of the New Republic, where you will be put on trial for your crimes against the galaxy. _Both_ galaxies."

"Curse you... both of you! But... no... a curse is not necessary..." The beaten Emperor pressed his good wrist against his cheek, inconspicuously keying the ship-wide comm channel. He held Luke's gaze as he spoke, giving a simple order, "You may fire when ready, Commander."

_"No!"_ Luke screamed in shock. But abruptly Blair pushed him away, and with his other hand he reached to draw his C-244 Pistol sidearm.

A magnetically-guided 2.3mm slug ended its short journey into the Emperor's forehead. Immediately, purple and blue lightning arched out from the puncture wound, cursing up and down his vibrating body. With an intense explosion of force, without heat, a ball of dark blue light expanded and roared with the death cry of the Emperor himself. As Luke knew from witnessing Joruus C'baoth's and the Emperor's first death, the sudden release of all the pent up energies of a Dark Jedi was not an explosion to be trifled with.

Skywalker and Blair were thrown backwards well across the chamber, the two of them sent tumbling down the stairs below the dais and nearly all the way to the double doors of the throne room's lift.

The explosion receded. The only thing left was the black, smoking ashes of the Emperor scattered and strewn near the twisted viewports of his throne room.

Blair and Luke lay next to each other across the room. "Foresee _that..._ you sick, evil son of a bitch," Blair rasped, steadily recovering.

At that very moment, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a million souls at last found their peace.

TC-10 HERCULES MARINE LC CDS-934; COCKPIT  
1215 HOURS (CST)

"We have cleared the close-quarters of the ship, and now we're heading back to the _Midway,"_ Jaina announced with fear. The Marines and Chewie were busy tending to Dixon and her father, while she piloted the ship the best she could while remotely controlling the single laser turret of the vessel, warding off any incoming fighters.

When she cleared the LC of the immediate battle zone, she put the ship on autopilot and ordered a small escort from the New Republican fighters in the area. Immediately, a full squadron of E-wings formed up on the LC.

Over thirty thousand kilometers away, swarms of Confederate, Landreich, Border Worlder, and Kilrathi capital ships battered relentlessly upon the shields of the _Eclipse III_ with the _Defiance _and the _Midway_ positioned directly between Earth and the superlaser array of the mighty death-ship.

"I guess if we're going straight to Sith, then we're going all the way," Jaina whispered to herself.

_I tried Uncle Luke. I tried..._

_But I failed._

Even on the LC's rudimentary sensor readings, a gradual energy spike grew and grew in the proximity of the SSD _Eclipse III'_s port. Outside, the crimson focusing gem of the mighty behemoth began to glow with a dark raging fury.

In the back of the ship, Marines surgeons yelled at one another in hopes of saving the lives of the badly burned Han Solo and Lt. Col. Dixon.

"We gotta get him to a medic, god damn it!" shouted Chief Warrant Officer DeSnell.

But those yells were nothing to Jaina now. All she could feel through the Force were the faint screams of doom from the Terrans of Earth, witnessing a red light growing furiously intense exponentially. Witnessing their last moments before death.

_I failed you, Uncle. I failed Earth. It's my entire fault..._

Tears and sobs poured from Jaina Solo's eyes, while the lives of those on Earth and her father hung in the balance.

SSD _ECLIPSE III_; EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM  
1217 HOURS (CST)

"Jesus Christ!" Luke shouted finally, after the two stopped aching and wheezing.

The Commodore shook his head at his friend and checked his watch. "We fought the Emperor for two hours. It felt like days."

"Yes... two hours..." Luke said, nearly exhausted. "I'm curious, however... there's got to be a dozen ways to interpret this, but if I was the Chosen One as Palpatine said, I'd tend to think it was my duty to strike down Palpatine once and for all. And yet..."

"And yet I was the one to kill him." Blair grunted. It wasn't dogfighting in the cockpit, but he knew he did better than average. "You don't suppose that means that _I'm_ really the Ch—"

"We can figure it out later, Chris." Luke stretched out with the Force yet again. "The superlaser on this vessel is nearly ready for discharge."

Blair tried to concentrate, and even through his weak spell he could sense something. "Confed Marines have been here; probably set up some antimatter charges on the superlaser bank. Terrans don't just sit back while our home planet waits to be cracked open."

"Well when the superlaser hits the breaking point, those charges will probably go off. Either way, I don't like this place... not that I ever liked it before."

Luke got up and staggered over to a heating portal, lined with computer displays. Blair lurched after him, looking over is shoulder while he tapped a few buttons.

A bitmap display of a path from the heating portal to the nearest hangar bay was shown. "If we jump down this portal, one of the connecting air vents will suck us in the general direction to Hangar Seventy-Three. From there we can commandeer a TIE Phantom, cloak her and rip a path straight out of here." Luke smiled. "Easier than Beggar's Canyon."

"Sound pretty easy. Except for those parts about jumping down the portal,' getting sucked into an air vent,' and commandeering a TIE,' it all sounds about right," Blair commented cynically.

Luke glared at him. "Well, maybe it doesn't have to be a TIE, but it's either that or walk out of this room facing a couple thousand Darktroopers, not to mention—"

"Us?" a reverberating voice echoed behind them.

The two automatically spun around, both of their lightsabers energized.

A triad of Imperial Royal Guardsmen stood in front of them, their force pikes drawn and charged.

"You two have nowhere to go," one of them spoke but they couldn't specify which one. "Do you honestly think that you can do what you plan? You have over-exhausted your powers, and getting off this ship now is impossible. Even if you two jumped, you would be sucked down toward the fusion core. Escape is impossible."

Blair stepped back while speaking, with Luke following. "Never underestimate the power of the Light Side."

With that, the two back-flipped down into the far-glowing maw.

MARINE LC _CDS-934;_ COCKPIT  
1219 HOURS (CST)

"We are reading a release point on that superlaser; twenty seconds!" one of the Marine pilots shouted.

"All ships are moving into the line of fire," the Ops Officer commented.

Outside, as the _Eclipse III_ moved herself slowly in line with Earth, all the capital ships lined themselves up accordingly in hopes of deadening the blow about to be stuck upon the Terran homeworld.

Jaina swung around in her central command chair, looking at the Marines for answers. "Let's not give them the chance to sacrifice themselves. When are those detonators going to do their job?"

"If the readings are correct, then they should have went off several seconds ago."

"Well we didn't exactly get the job done. We only set up ten charges tops," Jaina whispered. "Then... my failure is complete."

"Wait—_look!"_

Outside, the crimson red eye of the superlaser's port grew even more intense. Instead of a beam of destruction lancing out through the capital ships and straight into Earth, the light of the eye pierced right back up the spine of the dark vessel. With a ripple of explosions following up the spine in succession, several of the thousands of lights on the ship winked out.

Now on the port and starboard sides of the ship even more explosions occurred, blowing out each hangar bay one by one. Like rats from a sinking ship, fighters and shuttles screamed out of the remaining bays, forgoing Flight Control clearance.

Suddenly, with a blinding white light the command section of the ship burst apart into nothingness. From the wound, electrical currents arched over the entire ship, and then the fusion reactor became unstable, splitting the skeletal remains of the beaten ship into two halves apart from the spine.

The fusion explosion sent the halves spinning at super speed into the Earth, heating upon atmospheric re-entry, and then breaking through. No defense weapons would fire upon the remains, which would cause a rain of hot metal upon the land instead of a solid, easily recoverable crash site. The fire-trailing, skeletal wreckage of the Super Star Destroyer could be seen plunging into the atmosphere of Earth by all of the assembled fleet still engaged in the Second Battle of Terra. Unceremoniously, the great black vessel careened into the Southern Hemisphere at terminal velocity and slammed into the Australian coast. It was between Mt. Kosciusko and the Bass Strait that it hit, instantly devastating Melbourne, Geelong, and Ballarat with the force of a small asteroid.

TCS _VALLEY FORGE;_ BRIDGE  
1229 HOURS (CST)

Captain Geoffory Armstrong watched with grim satisfaction from his chair as the explosive impact of the _Eclipse III_ died down off the Australian coast, great plumes of smoke and soot rising up into the lower atmosphere obscuring the impact site. The Imperials' second Super Star Destroyer was down, but it came at the cost of potentially several hundred thousand lives on the surface.

_Casualties of war..._

A look at his bridge staff revealed them hard at work, his XO, Lt. Commander Schaefer coordinating with tactical, and Lt. Ishii manning her defense console against the continuing scourge of the Shadow Droids and other craft. Thankfully the Kilrathi threat was gone... in fact, the Kilrathi formerly allied with the Third Imperium were now directing the entirety of their efforts against the Imperial Fleet.

"The Kilrathi are still not responding to our hails, sir," reported Lt. Amy St. Germain, the comm officer.

"Very well... they can have it their way, then. As long as they're not attacking us anymore, we have no quarrel with them."

Six Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, a single Victory SD, a single Interdictor Cruiser, and a single Katana-class dreadnaught was all that was left of the Imperial Fleet, though it was their fighter complements that had Confed on the ropes in the Second Battle of Terra. Endless swarms of TIE Interceptors, TIE Bombers, TIE Advanced/Avengers, TIE Defenders, TIE Phantoms, TIE Robotics, Star Wings/Assault Gunboats, Missile Boats, and now the Shadow Droids—the gang was still all here.

Drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair, he issued the order to join the _Mistral Sea_ battle group with the battle-recommissioned TCS _Victory_ per Space Marshal Voight's orders from the _McKinley._

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
1235 HOURS (CST)

"Direct hit to the frigate's sublight engines... one more to the—there she goes, sir." 

"Excellent." Aboard the _Death's Head,_ even after Güthrig watched with minor satisfaction the smoldering wreckage of the _Eclipse III_ continuing to devastate a small continent on the Terran homeworld's Southern Hemisphere, he bore witness to the Rebels' Nebulon-B Escort Frigate _Liberator_ going up in an incandescent haze under relentless turbolaser battery pounding. It wouldn't quite be the end of the _Eclipse III,_ though, as tsunamis were already visible from space, rushing toward Pacific shores at nearly a thousand miles per hour. he said quietly. _Well, at least Palpatine's foolishness has produced some results. And he has paid for it... for the fourth time._ Helm! Set a course for the galactic rim, he said loudly, before dropping back to a whisper, This time, we move slowly. We'll build on loyalty within, and defend with fear without. This time, we'll do this right. But for now... He paused as he observed the chaotic disarray of the scattered Confederation fleets. Now, we'll make them pay for their victory. Admiral Tschel, coordinate fire between all of our ships. Destroy the Baron's turbolaser-equipped ships. All TIE Defenders, Phantoms, and Interceptors are to fall back and defend our ships. Gunboats and Missile Boats are to take out the Confederation flagship, and recall the remaining Shadow Droids to our hangars. I want the _Midway_ obliterated.  
  
Several seconds later, Tschel turned back to the Grand Admiral, already clad in his respective pearly white uniform. Sir, we are ready to fire. Güthrig only nodded. Tschel smiled as he gave the order to fire, but the smile never reached his eyes. For he knew they were already defeated.  
  
For a moment, six battered Imperial II Star Destroyers, a single Victory Star Destroyer, and a Katana dreadnaught sat motionless among a sea of debris. Then, in an instant, a wave of green and crackling blue energy lanced into the ten remaining Kilrathi T-laser Destroyers. The vessels shattered in an instant. Even the debris was wiped away by the furious energies. The hulking behemoths quickly picked off most of the Kilrathi corvettes, and the fighters drove the rest of them off.  
  
Güthrig hummed in thought as Confederation fleet was slow to re-deploy their battle formations. Tschel, we have an opportunity, and I'd like your opinion on it. Tschel almost gasped in surprise. It was rare in the Empire for a superior officer to ask the opinion of their subordinates. We have several minutes until the Confederation forces can regroup. We can either retreat now, or we can take the opportunity to maim our foes horribly.  
  
Tschel was nervous, and answered tenuously. Well, sir, I lean toward the latter. But, discretion may be the better part of valor.  
  
Güthrig nodded slowly. I agree with you. But, we must make sure our new enemies cannot immediately afford to pursue us. Lieutenant Frejena, have all ships concentrate their firepower on the Confederation carriers. Tschel, inform me when we are ready to enter hyperspace.

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
1238 HOURS (CST)

"No... survivors, sir."

Admiral Ackbar balled both fists on his swiveling command chair as he watched the last flicker of the explosion that had engulfed the _Liberator_ give out. The _Liberator_ had been the only other capship in the New Republic's task force to make it through the black hole in the Katrel System of their galaxy to arrive here. Just like that, over nine hundred men and women of the New Republic were gone, their lives lost in an alien galaxy whose inhabitants they did not know but chose to fight for nonetheless.

Admiral Drayson's son had been commanding that Nebulon-B Escort Frigate, a longtime associate and friend of Ackbar's. That he would have to face his father and give the man the news...

"Intensify firepower on that Star Destroyer," he ordered, the authority creeping back into his persona.

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
1240 HOURS (CST)

Fleet Admiral Eisen watched in horror as a third Concordia-class carrier detonated under the fire of the Imperial Fleet. A quartet of Tallahassee-class cruisers, led by the Plunkett-class TCS _Patton,_ swept past the _St. Helens_ in an attempt to assault the Star Destroyers and draw their fire away from the carriers. Less than twenty seconds later, the _Patton_ finally succumbed to the same fiery death as its four wards.  
  
Things weren't going well. Despite the destruction of the _Eclipse III,_ Confed was still at a distinct tactical disadvantage. Most of ConFleet that had positioned itself directly in front of the Eclipse to stop the superlaser blast, so when the Eclipse exploded, there was a mad scramble to get out of the way. Several ships never made it, and even the TCS _Fujiyama, _one of several Vesuvius-class supercarriers (the only Confed ships to boast full platolum armor) rushed into production during the Cynium crisis to even the odds in the event Confed didn't get there first, was still reeling from a sideswipe of the city-sized ruins, and would likely spend months in drydock for repairs. Now, while the Confed fleet was scrambling to reform their lines, the Imperials were taking the opportunity to do the most possible damage.

Eisen balled a fist at his side. "Damn..."

TCS _MIDWAY;_ BRIDGE  
1245 HOURS (CST)  
  
A massive explosion announced the final collapse of the shields, and gunships began picking off her turreted lasers. Ahead, four Missile Boats lined up for a run against the bridge. _We're dead, _Captain Wilford thought. All the _Midway'_s fighters were tied up with the TIEs. The 'Boats dove toward the prominent bridge, firing their lasers to soften it up, but as they gained a target lock, four missiles came out of nowhere and erased them from the universe.  
  
Where the hell did those come from? Wilford demanded. A second later, four Bloodfang IIs raced past the bridge.  
  
Sir, we're receiving a transmission, the comm officer reported.  
  
Moments later, the holographic image of Admiral Jamison appeared. He was positively beaming when his image coalesced. We're back, and I hope you don't mind that we picked up some new friends on the way. He paused while Ensign Jarvis announced new contacts behind the _Zephyr._ Captain Wilford, I present to you the First Fleet of the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans.  
  
Jarvis reported, I'm getting IFF readings on the Kilrathi vessels. Four Fralthi II cruisers, eight heavy destroyers, twelve light destroyers, twenty-four corvettes, one fleet carrier, a Thrakhra-class ConCom, and—what the hell... the computer's identifying the lead vessel as a Kla'meq-class battlecruiser—

A what? Wilford snapped. I thought those things were retired.

I guess not, sir... it's the KIS _Kla'meq_ itself. Most of the bridge crew gasped or gave Jarvis a look of disbelief. It had been one of Clan Sho'lar's greatest achievements; a capital ship that was essentially a scaled down version of a 22 kilometer Kilrathi Dreadnought, though one even more deadly.

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ BRIDGE  
1249 HOURS (CST)

Simultaneously, aboard the _St. Helens,_ Commander Rollins let out a whoop of triumph. Holy shit! Where'd the hell did Melek get his hands on _that?_

He checked his console for a second, Sir, the _Kla'meq_ is hailing us.  
  
Eisen raised his eyebrows. Well, put it through.  
  
The regal bearing of Prince Murragh materialized before him. I apologize for the delay on behalf of the Provisional Council, Admiral. One of our destroyers suffered a jump drive failure, and we had to pick up the survivors. But, it seems we have arrived just in the nick of time, he said, smiling. If you will remove your fighters from the vicinity of these Imperial's' lead cruiser, we shall demonstrate to them why they should not trifle with the Assembly of Clans.

Only too happy to oblige, Eisen nodded to Rollins, who began recalling bombers from their less-than-successful assaults on the Imperial line.

That shit kicking contest back in effect, sir? Rollins asked, a wide grin on his pasty white face.

Eisen stifled a chuckle. Oh, absolutely it is.

KIS _KLA'MEQ;_ FLAG BRIDGE  
1250 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the 1,600-meter flagship of the Kilrathi Assembly's First Fleet, Prince Murragh Cakg _dai_ Nokhtak and Chancellor Melek _nar_ Kiranka exchanged a glance. For years they had been at opposite ends of the Kilrathi Assembly—Melek championing his caretaker government and Murragh claiming himself as the rightful heir to the throne with his followers—neither one approving of the other but neither one openly opposing the other. Their acknowledged differing political sidings had been one of the foremost keys to the delicate balance of the Kilrathi Assembly of Clans' infrastructure. Brought together now by the actions of the renegade Kilrathi Clans that had joined the Third Imperium, the two Kilrathi nobles smiled in silent anticipation as a low hum filled the dimly-lit flag bridge. The Confederation fighters had cleared from the Imperial fleet more rapidly than they had thought possible, and in a few seconds, the Imperials would find out why.  
  
A weapons control officer turned and announced that the Z'ratmak Cannon was fully charged and locked onto the _Death's Head._ Murragh commanded, anticipation in his voice.

Yes, my lord.  
  
The hum quickly grew in volume and pitch, then a bright red pulse spat forth. It crossed the hundreds of kilometers between the two ships in an instant and slammed into the ISD2 _Death's Head'_s bow. The huge Imperial II rocked back as six hundred meters of durasteel, weapons and crew disintegrated as everything before the Star Destroyer's main hangar was obliterated by the powerful cannon. An instant later, more beams lanced out from behind the Imperial line, impaling the dreadnaught, Victory Star Destroyer, the ISD2 _Spite,_ and the ISD2 _Indomitable_ like insects in collector's case, destroying them utterly.  
  
Murragh turned to the sensors officer as the latter let out a startled curse. The young Third Fang's breach of protocol angered him, and he demanded to know what was wrong. The officer quickly regained his discipline, and reported, Sire, sensors are showing a dozen warships. Two are heavy carriers of an unknown class, 725 meters each. The others are approximately two and a half kilometers long, and are equipped with stealth systems. I can get no further readings from them.

CENTURION 33-X  
1255 HOURS (CST)

Aboard his Centurion fighter, the privateer known only as Brownhair let out a slow whistle of appreciation as the sleek black dreadnoughts slid past his _New Machiapippian_ light carrier and the rest of the Gemini Relief Force. While even his scanners (modified far above the legal limit) couldn't penetrate the things' stealth systems that masked their IFF readings, at this range he could easily see the ships' features. The huge dreadnoughts looked like a cross between a Vesuvius dreadnought/supercarrier, a Rigel-class stealth carrier, and a Plunkett-class artillery cruiser, with a heavy dose of steroids for good measure. In short, they looked like a Kilrathi's worst nightmare. They literally bristled with guns all over, both turrets and stationary battery-type emplacements (like those of old sailing galleons of Earth's ancient history). Where the flight deck would have been, the maw of a gigantic cannon loomed ominously. A few still glowed weakly from their recent use. The bridge tower was centered on the midline, and the large ramscoops sat in dorsal and ventral armored fixtures to the rear. The whole monster was driven by seven massive engines arrayed in a line across the aft, and set nearly a hundred meters within the hull with thick armor doors that could close in the event of an attack on the engines, similar to a Hakaga.

He shivered, though he wasn't the least bit cold. _How in the hell did Confed build those things without anyone knowing about it?_ he wondered silently. They weren't even carriers, either. Oh, he was sure they had hangars and a decent fighter complement somewhere, but these things were primarily meant to get near something, anything, and take it out with shear firepower. It looked like they wouldn't get the chance, though, as the Imperial Star Destroyers were pitching up sharply to retreat.

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
1300 HOURS (CST)

Grand Admiral Güthrig had a death-grip on the arms of his command chair as the wounded ship maneuvered for its jump into hyperspace. Damage reports were still coming in. Over seven thousand were reported dead, nearly a thousand were missing and presumed dead, and nearly half the survivors were injured.  
  
He cursed silently. They had almost been ready to leave. In another minute, they would have retreated to hyperspace and to safety. But, as usual, something had to go wrong. Now, the _Death's Head_ was crippled, and his fleet was down by another three ships; one of them an invaluable Imperial II Star Destroyer. _But, though hideously wounded in even our parting blow, the Empire still will not die here,_ he thought defiantly.  
  
Güthrig finally mustered up a small, bitter smile as the stars stretched impossibly long, then vanished into the serene swirl of hyperspace. The fleet would regroup and rebuild. And, as the last Grand Admiral, he would see to it the Empire would one day finally reclaim its rightful place in the galaxy.

This galaxy would do. All in time.

TCS _ST. HELENS;_ CONFERENCE ROOM  
1305 HOURS (CST)

Fleet Admiral William Eisen stood looking out one of the massive viewports of the _St. Helens'_ conference room. His gaze fell upon the TCS _Omega,_ one of the Confederation's secret Black Ops projects meant to end the first Kilrathi War. He finally turned to Rear Admiral Jeffery Patterson, commander of the Omega Task Force. We've reviewed what's happened on our end. So, would you mind telling us your story?  
  
The elder admiral stood and nodded his head to Eisen. Well, as you may or may not know, the Omega Project was started in 2667. The goal was to build a dreadnought capable of taking on any Kilrathi ship in existence. Our final designs were what you see out there, he said gesturing toward the viewport. The Omegas were to do just about the same thing the Kilrathi Hakagas did to us: end the war in one swift overwhelming offensive.  
  
There was one major difference in our planning than that of our Kilrathi counterparts. We were sure that they were developing a dreadnought-supercarrier of their own. This allowed us to design a ship to overpower even them, but it also inspired us to equip our dreadnoughts with a full stealth suite and... and a new superweapon more powerful than anything ever conceived of before. You saw its lowest power setting out there today, and I believe you are familiar with the original oversized prototype weapon platform, _Behemoth._ For a moment the other representatives, Space Marshal Voight, a tired Commodore Blair, Admiral Eisen, Captain Wilford, Admiral Keith of the UBW Navy, Rear Admiral Bondarevsky of the FRLN, Prince Murragh, Chancellor Melek, and Jedi Master Skywalker sat in stunned silence.  
  
Patterson continued, Ubarov and Tolwyn's _Behemoth_ was never actually intended to enter combat, even with a large fleet escort. The reason it was so poorly armed and armored was that it was retrofitted with armor, weapons, and combat shields after the fact to be used as a last ditch superweapon. Even then, Tolwyn knew that he needed a significant fleet escort to protect her, he paused, giving the lost ship a quick moment of silence. He still had no choice, though. We didn't know about then-Brigadier General Taggart and Severin's Temblor Bomb project, and the first Omega was projected to come on-line in eight months, at the time. That was a full four months past the projected final Kilrathi invasion, and the loss of the war. Oh, we'd have been able to strike back hard, maybe even win in the long run, but we'd never have recovered from the loss of Earth.  
  
Even so, why was the project for this fleet of stealth planet killers not scrapped after the end of the war? After Kilrah? Murragh asked with a hint of anger in his voice.  
  
Patterson said. We were never informed that the war ended. He raised his hands to halt the flood of questions. You have to understand, towards the very end of the war, Tolwyn gained full jurisdiction over the entire Omega program. It was he who controlled what information our distant outpost received, and when the war ended, he used his position at the head of the SRA to continue low funding of our project. We continued construction as if the war was still in full swing, because that's what we thought. When he went under in '73, and we lost all contact with ConFleet High Command, and with Confed in general, we had to assume the worst: that the Kilrathi had finally launched their final assault, Earth had fallen, and Confed was fractured and desperately fighting to stave off the inevitable.

ConFleet HQ wasn't informed of any of this, Admiral, Space Marshal Voight interjected.  
  
Patterson went on, Yes, well, we continued our work to finish the last four ships without Confed support, more or less determined to roll a path of destruction through the Kilrathi Empire that would completely destroy their war-making capability. For eight years, we were driven by the simple desire to hit the Empire and scorch every Kilrathi planet of life. He quickly continued as the others began to react with horror. Even Melek's eyes reflected a hidden terror. He was one of the few to have seen the _Behemoth'_s test firing on one of their small outpost-worlds. The entire planet had been vaporized, destroyed more utterly than even what the Temblor Bomb could have even dreamed of at Kilrah. The thought of ten such weapons, undetectable, waxing planet's indiscriminately sent a worse chill through him Kt'lan's Prophecy of Sivar. For a few moments he imagined the fear of being on the receiving end of a war of genocide; the same feeling humanity had experiences for nearly forty years.

Between the two Death Stars, the prototype, the World Devastators, the Galaxy Gun, the Sun Crusher, the Eye of Palpatine, and the Darksaber, Luke had seen more than his share in his respective galaxy. No good has ever come of them. 

Please! You must understand, Patterson pleaded. We thought everything we'd loved and fought for had been destroyed. Indeed, we thought that we may have been the last of humanity left. He sighed as decades of tension seemed to leave his body, And we were damned if we were going to let them get away with it. Damned if we gave them the opportunity to do it again, he said, and looked at the Kilrathi representatives apologetically for what they'd almost done. 

Blair spoke up, But still, how did you find out the truth?  
  
Less than a week ago, the _Lexington _and _Akagi _finally returned—

The _Lexington?_ Blair asked, wincing. He knew at once Patterson wasn't referring to the former Concordia-class ship of Blair and Eisen's that he'd been forced to torpedo during the Black Lance incident, but of the mysterious _Lexington_ heavy carrier of the TCIS Terran Intelligence Agency that departed Goddard Transfer Station on 2669.011 to disappear into a then-previously uncharted Kilrathi jump point. Its mission: searching out and destroying Kilrathi forces, sector by sector. That was a Project Omega ship?

"Yes. It and the _Akagi_ finally returned from Kilrathi deep space, along with nearly a quarter-million refugees. Captain Hill knew the facts about Project Omega, as well as the events of the last decade. On a hunch, he decided to check on the project to see if Tolwyn had given us the Mushroom Treatment,' Patterson said with a light smile. His hunch paid off. The _Lady Lex_ jumped into the system just as the Omega Task Force was preparing to jump out. We almost didn't believe them, as several Black Lance survivors had made it to us and reinforced the bullshit Tolwyn had fed us. But, unlike the Lancers,' they had decades of transmissions for proof. So, here we are.

There were several minutes of quiet discussion about what he'd told them. What he hadn't told them was that he, as the director of the Omega project, was a member of the nearly defunct Belisarius Group, which was nearly destroyed when Tolwyn came to power in the short-lived SRA. Yes, that was something Patterson felt he should keep under tight wraps until the group's strength could be evaluated. And if it turned out that it couldn't be revived, he still had command of the most powerful ships in Confed, something he would be quite content with.

The meeting finally broke up, and everyone departed but Eisen, Patterson, and the two Kilrathi Assembly nobles. William eyed Jeffery for a minute before confronting him. I know there are parts to that you didn't tell us. There always are. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite us in the ass. He pulled out an envelope marked Top Secret. These are your orders.  
  
Patterson opened the envelope and perused the orders for a couple of minutes before responding. A mission in Kilrathi space? he finally asked incredulously.  
  
Eisen nodded. Yes. The _Lexington_ and _Akagi_ will be bringing the refugees back to Earth, but Confed wants the Omegas to accompany Murragh's First Fleet to the border of Mantu space. They've been scuffling with the Kilrathi for over eighty years now. Confed wants your fleet to act as both a mediating third party to negotiate a peace settlement, and as a significant show of force to show we can defend ourselves.

The Assembly of Clans appreciates the assistance, Chancellor Melek spoke, bowing his head.

Assistance the Assembly will be happy to utilize... as soon as we escort these fugitives of our race led by Baron Caxki that sided with the Third Imperium, Prince Murragh said, his deep voice low. But... thank you.

Rear Admiral Patterson stood, his gaze stopping on Admiral Eisen. Well, then...

Good luck, Eisen said, extending his hand.  
  
Patterson shook it, a smile on his face. Thank you, sir.

BWS _ZEPHYR;_ FLIGHT DECK  
1325 HOURS (CST)

Major Frederick von Richthofen stood with the two surviving pilots of Talon Squadron, Lieutenants Stephani Kozlowski and Seth Milhalik. He'd been informed that they would likely both receive promotions to the rank of captain for their part in the battle. It saddened him that so many of his friends had died in the past three days. It also angered him.  
  
Damn the Andorran Republic! Goddamn them to Hell! he suddenly shouted aloud, startling his squadmates with his unusually emotional outburst. Normally, he had been the most reserved of the whole flight wing.

What's wrong? Stephani asked in her unusually deep voice, fully knowing the answer.  
  
Richthofen turned to her. What's wrong? What's _wrong?_ I'll tell you what's wrong. That fucking excuse for a benevolent government promised support if we were ever attacked. But did they come? Did they send just one freaking ship to help out while we were getting out asses handed to us? No! They sat back and let us die out there just so they could watch Confed get its ass kicked. If they'd helped back at Alcor, just three or four Tempest-class carriers and a couple of Oceanus-class cruisers with full fighter complements of Ospreys and Intruders would have all but torn the Cats'n Imps to pieces! Not to mention what a Raptor wolfpack could have done. No, to_ hell_ with them. I heard it less than an hour ago. Due to the Republic of Andorra's blatant violation of our defensive alliance, the Union of Border Worlds has officially broken off relations and nullified all treaties with the Republic. And if they try to make something of it, a very pissed off Border Worlds Navy, plus any Confed forces anywhere nearby, will kick their lily asses all the way back to Coventry. To quote President Kruger of the Free Republic of Landreich, That was bullshit! From now on, the Andorran Republic can kiss our asses!'  
  
Richthofen paused, breathing heavily. began to say something, but Frederick held up a hand for him to wait. Which brings us to our new assignment. We're being assigned to the Caernaven patrol frigate BWS _Condor_ as Talon Flight.' They're giving us Vindicators, specially modified by Border Worlds R&D. We'll be patrolling the Andorran border for any signs of hostile intention until further notice. If we find any, then the _Zephyr,_ equipped with our best fighters, his voice sank down to a whisper, and a full squadron of new Vampire space superiority fighters, but that's classified, his voice returned to normal, and the _Mjollnir_ will jump in and give them a beating they'll never forget. He checked his old-style pocket watch and sighed. Come on, our shuttle's waiting.  
  
The three pilots took a last, long look at their former home before boarding the shuttle that would take them from it. There were far more important things to worry about now than the Andorrans.

KIS _VHAS'KARATH;_ BERTH ONE  
1345 HOURS (CST)

Shutting himself away without question from his _Tho'reari_ and crew on the flag bridge, Thokkarh retired to his private den.

The Imperials had failed. His brethren in the Caxki, Ragitagha, and Kur'u'tak clans had failed. With these failures, the hope of redemption for Baron Thokkarh _nar_ Caxki's grand race was all but lost. His coup to turn on the Imperials, let the Terrans think they had switched sides, then combat the withered Terrans again when the Imperials were finished was hopeless with the arrival of the Kilrathi Assembly First Fleet—they were still renegades in their weak eyes and would be smiten. Soon the last pitiful remnants of the dead Kilrathi Empire would crumble as the Prophecy of Sivar would unfold itself, the nothingness of _Kn'thrak_ embracing them all... Thokkarh would not be watching it happen idly. By all rights, the Kilrathi in the Assembly were _Sa'guk_—dead and disgraced to their _hrai _and the the Kilrathi Empire's rightful place in the galaxy, though they yet live.

As one of the last Kilrathi refusing to bow to the Terran apes, there was but one option left to him: the ultimate expression of the warrior's creed.

"Honor shall flow to the warrior who is true," he chanted, reciting the old codex, "to his hrai, to his comrades, to his people, and to himself, for only the warrior shall know the gods hereafter."

Thokkarh withdrew his _zu'kara_ knife from the sheath buckled to his thigh. The blade's ornate handle, made of the rare wood from the sacred forest of Kovokum, had been carved to fit Thokkarh's paw.

"Forgive me, Sivar."

The _Kal Thak'hra_ Baron of Clan Caxki bore his fangs and dragged the blade across his neck, his life's liquid jetting down his regal plate armor freely. 

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ OBSERVATION LOUNGE  
1405 HOURS (CST)

Done conferring with Captain Wilford and Space Marshal Voight on the _St. Helens,_ when Luke returned to the _Defiance_ aboard the Lambda-class shuttle he and Blair had stolen from one of the _Eclipse III'_s hangars he found his sister, her husband, and their daughter were waiting for him.

"Yeah, and I was ju—" Jaina stopped herself, suddenly aware of a familiar presence approaching her in the back of her mind. She turned away from the viewports to shoot the familiar face a welcome sigh. "It's Uncle Luke!"

Luke smiled at his niece. "I'm so proud of you, Jaina."

"Luke!" Leia burst, turning as Jaina tugged on her tunic. On impulse the two siblings ran toward each other, meeting and embracing halfway.

"Hey, kid," Han chimed in behind Leia, smirking at Luke. "Must have really done a number in there with that look-alike of yours. What happened in there, anyway? I'm guessing you'n him were chatting with Palpatine while the _Midway'_s Marines and Jaina and Chewie and I were tromping around like Jawas with our heads chopped off, right?"

"Long story... one I promise I'll tell you when this is all over," Luke said, a very winded tone to his voice.

His sister winced, bringing a hand to his cheek. "But we did it, Luke... we won..." She was right, but it had come at the cost of the _Liberator_ and a handful of good pilots—only meager losses next to the Terran Confederation's.

"That's right... but there's just one thing left to do... one question we still don't have an answer to." Leia nodded grimly. Han, Luke, Leia, and Jaina all looked to each other. A woeful Wookiee groan could be heard coming from the galley, Chewie. The question wasn't hard to figure out. Not for any one of the men and women on the _Defiance._

How would they get home?

Almost as if in answer to his rhetorical question, the Quarren comm officer's voice came over the _Defiance'_s P.A. system, "Chief of State Organa Solo and Luke Skywalker to the bridge, please."

NRS _DEFIANCE;_ BRIDGE  
1710 HOURS (CST)

Luke got out of the bridge lift with Leia, Han, and Jaina, his eyes immediately widening upon seeing the familiar visage of Commodore Christopher Blair being holoprojected from the elevated primary comm console.

"Luke. Leia." Blair regarded the two with a nod. "I've just received word from Exploratory Services' superluminal scientists... while we've been busting our asses against the Imperial-Kilrathi fleet, they've been busy in the Enyo System."

Luke cocked an eyebrow. His look-alike's mind was difficult to probe through the Force, but he didn't need it to see where the Commodore was going. "That was the system the _Defiance_ and _Liberator_ arrived in, was it not?"

"That's right." Blair cleared his throat. "Not to get everybody's hopes up prematurely, but these scientists claim they can reopen the black hole that brought you from your galaxy to ours. Reinduction of antigravitons, they say is all it essentially takes..."

"That's no ordinary black hole, Chris," Luke reminded him. He'd sensed the influence of Palpatine's Sith magic behind its creation initially and still had no reason to think otherwise. "And even if these scientists can reopen it, will it be the same? We were told we not only traveled across galaxies, but across time itself..."

"Quite right, Master Luke," C-3PO intoned, strutting away from his pestering of Admiral Ackbar. Off to the side, R2-D2 beeped and clicked, adding his own input. "I'll repeat my earlier theory which General Solo so rudely interrupted: the star charts the _Midway_ starship's chief of stellar cartography was kind enough to show me show conclusively that, cross-referenced, our own elliptical galaxy, identified by your records as the Fornax Galaxy' is quite different—and quite displaced, in observing our native galaxy's redshift, though I cannot be certain by how much—from this Milky Way' of yours. If memory serves, this galaxy—codenamed MA-31'—as it was observed in our galaxy, had a significantly shorter redshift from ours... a difference of some five million light years to its redshift in the present. Going on the theory that the universe is constantly expanding and galaxies are pushed outward, increasing he redshift between galaxies, it's as if my colleagues and I have traveled not only across galaxies, but across time itself—to the future. Our future. But then again this is—"

"The Commodore _knows, _Goldenrod," Han cut the protocol droid off once again, giving something akin to a growl.

"I do declare... General Solo, after all these years, you still take some twisted pleasure in never letting me finish a sentence."

"I let you finish that one, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Luke, you're right," Blair continued. "Even if the black hole can be reopened, there is no way to know for sure if the opposite end hasn't shifted—and even if it hasn't shifted, you might end up a hundred years into your galaxy's past or future. Or you might not reach your galaxy at all—there's more than a couple theories out there that would support that. And who's to say whatever Sith magic our friend Palpatine put into maintaining the black hole's wormhole properties is still in place?"

"Let me get this straight..." Luke exchanged a glance with his sister, then looked back to the holoprojection of his look-alike. "You're saying we have a chance to go home?"

Blair mustered a timid smile. "That's right. A chance."

Luke nodded. He could feel the unanimous, joint feeling of approval radiating from the Mon Calamari and Quarren crew, as well as from Leia, Jaina, and Han. He spoke without hesitation, "Then it's a chance we'll take, Chris. How soon can we leave?"

"Sir," Threepio spoke up. "I must say, the odds of us surviving _another_ trip into a black hole are ninety-nine million, three h—"

"Never tell me the odds," Luke said, a wry, very Han-like grin on his face. 

**FINIS**


	9. Epilogue

**Star Wars / Wing Commander : The Imperial March  
**

Epilogue

  
A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY. . .

MOON YAVIN 4; GREAT TEMPLE  
THE YAVIN SYSTEM

Leia Organa Solo's personal flagship, the freshly commissioned MC Battle Cruiser _Mediator,_ hung visibly in low orbit over the gas giant Yavin's fourth moon. With one last hiss, Han and Leia's Lambda shuttle touched down on the pyramid-like Great Temple's central landing pad with repulsorlift aid beside the _Lightning Rod_ and _Rock Dragon._ The Massassi-built structure of Luke's praxeum looked surprisingly durable despite the four thousand years it had stood with only minor repairs, through Imperial incursions starting with the Battle of Yavin.

The Jedi Academy trainees were below—"Lowie" Lowbacca, Tenel Ka, Zekk, Raynar, Lusa, Anja, and the older Jedi Knight "student trainers" Kirana Ti, Streen, Kam Solusar, Dorsk 82, historian Tionne, and Dozen-and-Two Avengers Squadron CO Kyp Durron were all eager to welcome Jaina back. 

"Hi, Zekk. Miss me?"

From the shuttle's lowered ramp Leia and Han watched their daughter either shake hands with or hug her much missed friends, then give the black-haired Zekk a kiss on his cheek in front of all the others. They laughed, Zekk blushing profusely—exactly the effect Jaina wanted.

Zekk, wearing a big smile as he was unwilling to allow such a humiliation go unmet, swept Jaina up into a huge hug. Then, as she was totally taken by surprise, he kissed, fuller and deeper than she could have thought possible. As their kiss ended, she found herself staring into his hazel eyes, eyes which had a warmth and depth to them like she'd never noticed—or let herself notice—before.

"That's enough, you two," Han shouted at them from afar. "Break it up alr—"

"Oh, leave them alone," Leia spoke, nudging her husband.

Han gave a chuckle. "Only giving my daughter a hard time, your highnessness. It's my right, damn it."

Zekk took a step back, suddenly nervous after making his move. The stares of the gathering of Jedi Knights and trainees were getting to him. "So... Jaina," he began, scratching the back of his head and adjusting his ponytail, "do you, uh... y'know... want to go out with me sometime?"

Jaina upped the ante again by returning his kiss. When they finally came up for air, she could only whisper, "Yes... oh, yes. I thought you'd never ask, Zekk." She again stared into his eyes, realizing something that she had never realized before—this was the one and only boy that had ever reached her in her deepest heart.

"Jaina..."

Leia and Han smiled as their two sons Jacen and Anakin Solo made their way through the gathering from the Great Temple's auditorium, smiling at their parents before embracing their sister. Leia gave her husband's hand a squeeze.

President Gavrisom and High Councilor Borsk Fey'lya had already negotiated a settlement in good faith with the small Imperial faction since the _Defiance_ and _Falcon'_s return—the only one still under the direct jurisdiction of the aging Admiral Gilad Pellaeon—that had not had any part in Jhediah's militant Third Imperium. The settlement gave the Imperials back their capital world of Bastion in addition to the Muunilist and Yaga Minor systems.

With the Third Imperium's entrapment and practical obliteration in the Milky Way Galaxy, there would be no further resistance to the state of peace between the remnants of the Empire and the New Republic.

As she looked over the joyful faces of her three children, then at her husband, Leia made a decision. She'd done her part as Mon Mothma's successor—as councilor, high councilor, and chief of state. With the New Republic finally settling into a solid and much-deserved peacetime, she would renounce her chief of state title and devote her time to something she had been neglecting for far too long.

Family.

PLANET KUAN; IMPERIAL PROTECTORATE  
THE TAROON SYSTEM, BRAXANT SECTOR

Twelve X-wings roared down into the bright afternoon sky of Kuan, a somber sight in an otherwise bright venue. They were painted a flat, jet black that seemed to absorb any sunlight that came in contact with them, making them seem no more than shadows flitting across the sky. However, most shadows didn't sport massive numbers of kill marks, unit insignia, or bright red pinstriping that proclaimed them to be the famed and feared Rogue Squadron. Tailing them, making the scene even more strange and incredible, were twenty-four TIE Defenders, also painted jet black. It was there, however, that the similarities ended. Eight of the Defenders had horizontal red stripes on the solar panels that were the distinctive markings of the defunct 181st Imperial Fighter Group that had once been Baron Soontir Fel's. The balance of the force, as well as the Lambda-class shuttle tailing the fighters, had black fuselages and entirely red wings, markings of the once-famous Omega Guards Squadron. These three famous squadrons, Rogue Squadron, the 194th, and the 195th, had come to Kuan to pay respect to a fallen comrade, one of the most elite of the elites.

They set down amidst the ruins of one of the warehouse districts on the grim city's eerie landscape, two blocks from an isolated apartment where the fallen pilot had grown up. There, the pilots formed into a funereal procession with casket bearing the remaining mementos of a starfighter hero's life, separating the Rogues and dignitaries that had flown in the shuttle up front from the Imperial pilots behind. There was the fallen pilot's medals, his awards, his personal logs, and uniforms—everything but a body. 

Imperial Major General Dara Glovyern acted as the drill master in front of the formation beside the lead New Republic pilot. "Detail, aten-_shun!" _she barked. "Fo'ward, _harch!"_

The New Republic pilot had left his newly acquired XJ model X-wing atop one of the high-rise buildings behind him under the guard of his astromech R5-D2 droid, Gate, and had begun to travel the sidewalks on foot with the rest of the entourage. The city had once been a great metropolitan center before Kuan's feud with its Bordal neighbor and the Imperial encroachment on the planet sometime around the Rebel Alliance's escape from Hoth, he had heard, but now it was a gloom-ridden nightmare of urban decadence. Though no longer an Imperial-held world, it hadn't recovered. The pilot couldn't understand why Kuan hadn't joined the New Republic upon the numerous invitations it had received over the years.

Swoop planes howled overhead in the numerous races and competitions the world as General Wedge Antilles, resplendent in his full dress uniform with the Confederation's Medal of Honor he'd earned hanging like a brilliant golden sun from his neck, approached the apartment complex they sought. It was in a very lonely, very hidden part of the city. The entourage set off in lockstep, navigating the twisted streets behind Wedge and Dara. Hesitantly, General Antilles walked up a steep flight of stairs, small creatures scuttling underfoot as he climbed. Beside him, Dara jumped. They could both sense eyes peering through small holes in the walls and he grew more nervous with every step.

At the top of the stairs they found the apartment they was looking for. Holding his flight helmet in one hand as he exchanged a glance with Major General Glovyern, Wedge gave a knock. Several seconds later a flap slid upon on the door, two eyes inspecting him up and down, probably noting Wedge's white-orange New Republic flightsuit. A moment later the door grinded open and he was facing a woman well into her eighties dressed in a black gown, with a look of confusion on her face that changed to shock when she took in all the pilots her midst. She cried out and tumbled against the door jam. Her cries cut off, and Wedge and Dara sprung forward, into the apartment.

"Marina Stele?" Wedge asked, grabbing her arm before she would fall.

The old woman winced, dormant fear lighting her sunken eyes. "Y-yes...?"

"I'm General Wedge Antilles of the New Republic, ma'am," he introduced himself politely. "Rogue Squadron."

"I'm Major General Dara Glovyern of the Imperial Navy," Glovyern introduced herself. She then gestured behind her. "These are my fellow officers and my XO, Colonel Davin Felth. We've come here... ah..." Dara looked hopefully to Wedge.

"Oh my... what is all this about? What do you want with me?" Marina inquired. She narrowed her eyes. "Is this about Maarek?"

"Yes, ma'am—your son." Dara gave a solemn nod. "I knew him... well."

Her eyes fixed on Dara's as she wagged a finger forward, Marina asked, "You loved him, didn't you?"

Dara suddenly faltered. "I-I... I..." A slight blush coming over her cheeks, she looked down.

Marina caught the flicker of surprise on the Major General's face, then nodded understandingly. "It's okay, dear. I'm sure he cares for you, too... but that stubborn boy always had such trouble expressing his emotions."

"I only knew your son as an adversary," Wedge then spoke, "but I had nothing but respect for him because he always acted with honor... and never forgot where he came from. Your son, Maarek... he attacked a group of Imperial Shadow Droids that had targeted my damaged X-wing. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here today talking to you."

"Quite literally, Mrs. Stele, your son saved an entire galaxy," Dara added.

"I always knew my boy would be a hero." What had been a timid smile of pride on Marina's face abruptly faded into a frown, her frail chest heaving in a sigh. Her eyes looked off past Wedge and Dara, focusing on nothing. "I-I... haven't seen him for over twenty years... not since he was plucked away by the Empire. And so soon after his father, Kerek... oh no... no..." The old woman suddenly shot Wedge a look of suspicion. The reality of the situation was finally beginning to dawn on her. "My Maarek's all right, isn't he?"

His head hung low with the burden he had taken on himself, Wedge delivered General Maarek Stele's mother the unpleasant news. At last he fulfilled Maarek's final request.

Maarek's mother knew her son had died a hero.

PLANET CORUSCANT; IMPERIAL PALACE  
THE IMPERIAL SYSTEM

The cold night air chilling his skin, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker maintained a lonely vigil over the balcony of his spartan Imperial Palace suite. The suite had always been an infrequent haunt of his, though between tending to the Jedi Academy and rushing out to quell the troubles that would consistently arise in the New Republic every year or so, he came to Coruscant too seldom to frequent it much anymore.

"The Chosen One..." he thought out loud, remembering well Emperor Palpatine's words. "Father, can it be me?"

For a moment he just stood there, leaning against the chest-high wrought stone railing and letting the cool night breeze ruffle his hair as he pondered the matters that troubled him. He stared at the bright lights and bustling air traffic of the seemingly infinite expanse of the Imperial City below, the lights of vehicles and streets intertwining to form a sort of flowing work of art. Overhead, lit by both the city lights and those of occasional airspeeders flitting through them, the low-lying clouds were a dim sculptured ceiling stretching in all directions, with the same apparent endlessness as the city itself. Far to the south, he could just barely make out the Manarai Mountains, their snow-covered peaks illuminated, like the clouds, largely by reflected light from the city—the only part of the terrain not covered with the skyscrapers of the city planet's capital city.

He was gazing at the mountains when, twenty meters behind him, the door to the Palace was quietly opened.

Luke turned to see his beloved wife, Mara Jade Skywalker, the red-haired woman striding her way across the balcony to where he stood. In returning to their home galaxy via the Katrel System, though they had spent well over a month in the Milky Way fighting the Imperial-Kilrathi fleet, barely an hour had elapsed here. Mara should have been just returning from a diplomatic mission to Rhommamool on the _Jade Sabre_ shuttlecraft he'd built for her after the loss of her _Jade's Fire,_ the shuttlecraft that, for many years, had been her only true possession. What he'd heard on the voyage back to Coruscant indicated the preliminary meeting pointed to there being little hope of bringing peace between the disputing Rhommamool and Osarian systems, but the New Republic still had to try.

"Luke..." she sighed quietly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she approached.

Luke smiled warmly, taking her hand as he looked into her inviting green eyes. What he shared with Mara had always been strong and meaningful, every bit as much so as the marriage his sister and Han still shared after seventeen years. "I know I've only been gone a couple days to you," he spoke, "but it's been... a little longer for me. I missed you, Mara."

"Yeah, you better say that." Mara gave a laugh and let her lips find her husband's. "I love you, Skywalker."

"I love you, too."

There was a long road ahead of Luke. Between getting the Jedi Academy to a point where it was autonomous and resurrecting the legendary Jedi Council on Coruscant, he would have little time to look back.

2681.022 **A.D.**, THE MILKY WAY GALAXY. . .

PLANET EARTH; DUMFUIRLIN, SCOTLAND  
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR

Just after sunrise in the great grasslands of Taggart's grand Dumfuirlin residence, Commodore Christopher "Maverick" Blair and Major Todd "Maniac" Marshall took a walk beside Senator James Taggart, all three men dressed in normal civilian attire. In another hour Blair and Marshall would be taking an express shuttle to rendezvous back with the now-repaired _Midway_ at the Fourth Fleet HQ in the Dakota System of Vega.

The Scottish Assembly Master, once known as "Paladin" to his wingmates, stroked his beard as he sucked on his corncob pipe, considering what the three had been talking about. "It's a victory, aye, but a hollow one at that."

Blair nodded in response. Only hours ago President Quinson had officially declared the state of war the Terran Confederation had been at to be over with on the TNC.

"Some big buncha hardasses from another galaxy team up with the Cats and try to kick our asses, then get shit kicked outta them... does that pretty much sum it up?" Maniac chimed.

"Aye, but there are still some Imperials out there... and those ships will eventually attempt another offensive sooner or later, you can be sure." Taggart regarded Blair with a concerned glance. "Are you okay, Christopher?"

Blair held the unignited lightsaber Luke had given him in his hand, staring at the handle with curiosity. "Fine. Just... just wondering about things."

"Aye..." Taggart nodded understandingly. "About your counterpart, I'd wager."

"It was so... for lack of a better word... _weird."_ Blair shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "While Luke Skywalker and I were on that Super Star Destroyer fighting the Emperor, I really _did_ feel what Luke called the Force. It was like what Karista was starting to show me on the hijacked _Olympus_ when we were those Pilgrims' captives almost thirty years ago, Maniac... but so much more."

Maniac shrugged indifferently. "If you say so."

"You know what I'm talking about, Paladin... you've got Pilgrim blood in you as well," he pressed. "You were there on the _Olympus_ with Maniac and I, too... with Amity."

Taggart repressed a frown unsuccessfully, offering only, "Aye."

Blair turned back to Marshall. "And you, Maniac... you've lived quite the charmed life. Anyone who knows you or has even heard about you would say it's a miracle you're still alive, the way you've flown out there all these years—maybe all this time you've had Force potential and not even known it."

Marshall scoffed at the notion. "Ho-kay, that's a great fortune cookie, Commodore War Hero. So I'm lucky. Sorry I'm not a cheap Pilgrim half-breed like your ass who can navigate quasars with a paperclip and a compass... no Jedi factor here—I make my own luck, bucko."

Blair smiled, repeating Maniac's earlier words, "If you say so."

"You made your final call on the _Midway'_s replacement pilots yet, Christopher?" Taggart asked minutes later, as they started passing through the residence's lush vineyard.

Blair nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I did..."

F-106A PIRANHA 430  
ON APPROACH TO TCS _MIDWAY_  
THE NEPHELE SYSTEM, DOWNING QUADRANT, VEGA SECTOR

In the abyssal darkness of space, two identical F-106A Piranhas blazed toward their destination. Each majestic scout fighter had a thin fuselage, with two supporting wings jutting out from each side, with each pair connected to a threatening weapon array. The rear of each fighter bore a four-point star, with a white circle enclosing it. The fighters were small, barely holding the pilots, the systems, and the mechanisms needed for operation.

They were Piranha fighters of the Terran Confederation, speeding through the speckled black heavens.

"C'mon, Maestro. Lost your touch? I've been ahead of you since the last jump point!" shouted 2nd Lt. Lance "Frosty" Casey, piloting the Piranha that had, for the last few hours, been roaring ahead another lagging Piranha. Lance R. Casey, son of the late-but-honored Major Michael "Iceman" Casey of the TCS _Tiger's Claw,_ looked little like his father. He had wide eyes, a small frame, and brown hair that fit his innocent boyish appearance. His father had a more chiseled, more muscular stature, with thin lips and an appropriately stoic appearance. The entirety of Casey's appearance was concealed beneath a thin flight suit that afforded him little comfort.

Racing Casey in his own Piranha was fellow 2nd Lt. Maxwell "Maestro" Garrett. He was not one for losing, and was confident that he would be the first of the two Confederation officers to touch down at their destination. His ruffled black hair, pasty skin and sharp appearance were also concealed beneath his thin, bothersome flight suit.

"Watch and learn from the Maestro himself!" the fellow 2nd Lt. responded with arrogant defiance. Maestro, a long time Academy buddy of Casey's, pitched, yawed and ignited his afterburners just to get ahead of his comrade. However, Maestro's actions worked with little avail. For a brief moment Maxwell was a few meters ahead, but he couldn't maintain his speed. Frosty roared past him toward their destination.

Their destination: the TCS _Midway._

First of her class and type the megacarrier _Midway_ was the beacon of a new decade. The 2680s were going to be the beginning of an epoch without war, and a new pursuit of peace. According to the TNC, the Terran Confederation was finished with the "preliminary tests" of their most powerful capital ship, and her shakedown cruise was about to begin. The _Midway_ was set to depart for her official maiden voyage.

Casey, who had valiantly reached the destination first, followed through the usual by-the-book regulations of docking clearance that had been drilled into him only weeks before in Flight School off Hilthros in the Sirius System.

"Just hope they got all the bugs worked out," Casey sighed, surveying the magnificent handiwork of the shipyard facilities on Orion Station at the L5 point while being summoned through the port-stern entrance.

"Relax," Maestro assured, a coy tone to his voice. "Confed hasn't seen _any_ action in years."

ISD2 _DEATH'S HEAD;_ BRIDGE  
SPINWARD RIM (UNKNOWN SPACE)

Güthrig gave the white fabric of his grand admiral's uniform a slight tug, then turned away from the bridge viewports, away from the dizzying, mottling blur of hyperspace.

The Executor-class Super Star Destroyer _Vacillator,_ though for the most part a badly damaged, skeletal hulk, limped along on a course adjacent to the ISD2s. Ridiculously slave-circuited to reroute its damaged nerve centers, about the only thing the vessel had at its disposal was a unreliably-working hyperdrive. Admiral Tschel was personally manning its makeshift bridge. When they had time to repair it the grand vessel would once again become Güthrig's flagship, but for the time being he had to be content with the also-damaged Imperial II Star Destroyer _Death's Head._

Morale was at an all-time low after the death of the Emperor over the planet Earth, but Güthrig's promises of renewed Imperial glory managed to bolster their spirits some.

They had entire archives' worth of information on the Terrans and Kilrathi—their rich histories, their knowledge, and their technology. The Imperial Fleet of the Third Imperium would be more careful next time, treading lightly before next it would strike against the new enemies of the Empire in the Terran Confederation.

Güthrig himself had found hope for the Third Imperium in the histories of Confed and the Kilrathi. Within the circle of Admiralty of the Imperial Fleet's commanding officers they were already plotting their ultimate strategy for the months ahead. The Terrans' and Kilrathis' past would become the Galactic Empire's future... but such plans would have to wait until the Imperial Fleet was in suitable condition.

He would bide his time. He would wait for his chance. He would lay the groundwork for what was needed.

"Glory to the Empire," Güthrig spoke to the Captain and his executive officer.

Captain Cavanaugh, Commander Griere, Lieutenant Frejena, and Ensign Danaaris, along with the rest of the bridge staff promptly stopped whatever they were doing, stood, and shot their hands up in salute. They responded in heartfelt unison, "Glory to the Empire, sir."

**F I N I S**


	10. AuthorEditor Comments

Notes from the author/editor...

In regard to SW : "The Imperial March" takes place after Boulevard's _Star Wars : The Young Jedi Knights - Crisis at Crystal Ree_f (by Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta Anderson) and immediately before Del Rey's _Star Wars : The New Jedi Order - Vector Prime_ (by R.A. Salvatore).  
In regard to WC : "The Imperial March" takes place a few weeks before the beginning of _Wing Commander: Prophecy._

The writing team is as follows :

Prologue : Andrew Modeen  
Chapter 1 : Jacob Skipper, Brandon McKown, Davie Blanken, Andrew Modeen  
Chapter 2 : Brandon McKown, Andrew Modeen  
Chapter 3 : Nathan Johnson  
Chapter 4 : Andrew Modeen, Ray Trembley, Jacob Skipper  
Chapter 5 : Nathan Johnson, Jacob Skipper, Andrew Modeen  
Chapter 6 : Brandon McKown, Nathan Johnson, Andrew Modeen  
Chapter 7 : Brandon McKown, Andrew Modeen, Nathan Johnson  
Epilogue : Andrew Modeen, Jacob Skipper

This crossover event was originally began in 1998, concluding in 1999, though I've since revised many scenes/chapters in the years since. It was extremely controversial at the time... people seemed to either really like it or really hate it, and there was little in the way of middle ground. 

There is a 1-chapter coda in the works that details the resurgence of the Third Imperium Imperial remnant left over after the epilogue in the year 2681. Keep an eye out for it here.

- Andrew Modeen (andrew@actiontattoos.com)  
The Wing Commander Legacy ()


End file.
